


Harry Potter and Two Freaking Words

by DeanJHarrison



Series: Prompts! [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Coming Out, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Harry Potter, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Supportive Friends and Found Family, Tags May Change, Triwizard Tournament, no ron bashing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 45,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanJHarrison/pseuds/DeanJHarrison
Summary: Harry didn't have time to worry what it meant that he fantasised about blokes because he was too busy worrying why he had begun fantasising about one specific bloke: the unrelenting git Malfoy. Oh yeah, and because someone was trying to kill him again.From two prompts, one given by my brother: "HP fic where everything is the exact same except Harry Potter is very, very gay" and prompt #621 from drarrypromptoftheday.tumblr: "What if Harry's 'Treasure' that was stolen from him, and placed at the bottom of the lake for the second Tri-wizard tournament task, was actually Draco and not in fact Ron?"___JKR has been cancelled. This author wants everyone to know that this is a safe space, trans rights are human rights, terfs will NOT be tolerated, and HP is strictly ours now. Don't let some woman who has fallen for the same folly as her own antagonists ruin the beloved book series or make you doubt yourself. You are loved and supported!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Prompts! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1799407
Comments: 209
Kudos: 374





	1. "Oh, don't be so dramatic"

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! This is something that has been in the works for a while because what started out as a purely self-indulgent fic decided to have plot and feelings. It has been a super rough year for me, like kicking-me-while-I'm-down kind of year, but for now, I tentatively plan to update every Monday to (hopefully) brighten our weeks from the beginning.
> 
> Please do note that there will be canon-typical violence, and this is a coming-out and coming-to-terms-with-sexuality fic. Happy Pride Month!  
> [Link to Tumblr prompt](https://drarrypromptoftheday.tumblr.com/post/147749462840/prompt-621-by-anonymous)

“I don't know how people do this. How Blue did this. Two words. Two freaking words, and I'm not the same Simon anymore.”  
― Becky Albertalli, [Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/27679579)

____

Harry Potter laid awake in his four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower, hating himself.

He glowered upward, firmly telling himself that he was an absolute idiot and tosser because there were _so_ , _so_ many more things he had to think of. He could be lying there brooding over the Triwizard Tournament, over the fact that Ron was still not talking to him, about how the whole school hated him again—except for Gryffindor House who rather thought he did a bloody good showing getting himself into the tournament—lamenting over unfinished homework, fretting over where Sirius was and if he was safe, or even that apparently, once again, someone wanted him dead.

He had a very, very long list of other things to think about.

Instead, there he was, chastising himself for wanking over Draco sodding Malfoy _again_.

That was the third time since returning to Hogwarts. It was hardly the first time a bloke appeared unbedded into his thoughts while wanking, but unlike those times, he wasn't worried or concerned over what it could mean. He didn't have any room for those emotions because he was too busy being furious that it was _Malfoy,_ regardless of his gender.

It didn't make _sense_.

To be honest, most of his wanks were hardly ever planned. He could tell, sometimes, when one of his dormmates was actively planning a wank. Their excitement of the activity was always pretty clear, and no one had to ask why a random _Muffliato_ was cast during the night. Those were just side-effects of living with four other blokes. In fact, the first few times a boy would appear in his fantasies, he originally assumed it had to do with that somehow, like an unconscious link between wanking and boys because of his dormmates.

No, most of his wanks were just his body reminding him that it existed and had needs. He would do a shower routine almost daily, and occasionally, like tonight, plan out a wank in hopes of… oh, he didn't know. Stress relief? Was that a good enough excuse? Honestly, he just wanted to feel good. He loved the toe-curling experience of climaxing. 

He tried to think of girls. He always tried to think of girls. When he first started regularly masturbating—which for him was mostly giving himself permission to, because the Dursleys would always make even the implication of masturbation sound like sin and something wrong and dirty—he would just enjoy the experience of it. Explore the feelings, what felt good, what didn't, that sort of thing. He supposed that was normal. He eventually had to give himself permission to think of other people when he did it, too, because he learned from his dormmates' blatant discussions that doing so was also supposed to be normal.

So, he tried to think of girls, because he was a boy. That was how it worked. He was a boy; therefore, he was supposed to toss over girls, like his dormmates clearly did. He would think of nameless, faceless female figures doing things to him. 

Sometimes it would work. He couldn't actually call it… satisfying, if he was honest.

Most of the time, he would get distracted by the image. Where would he put his hands? Was he allowed to touch _that?_ Or those? How would it feel? He had a strange fascination with it because he was curious, but… 

But. That was the thing. Either he would become properly distracted and give up, or he would push past it, determined to finish, and that was when… others entered, he guessed.

They were nameless, faceless, _shapeless_ people at first. Mostly just him closing his eyes and pretending his hands were someone else's. He wasn't entirely sure when it was that the shapeless no ones formed boy-shapes, but it wasn't something he thought about until after it was over. 

He panicked a few times. He was flabbergasted after he realised it had become a habit. Concerned eventually won out about how he felt about it, and once he hit concerned, it got pushed down into a nice little ' _not-right-now'_ bin in his mind. In the meantime, he would forcibly try to think of girls.

"Pointy git," he said to himself.

The first time wanking over _this_ lad was entirely Malfoy's fault, and Harry would stand by that to his grave.

It was just after the start of term, and Harry and Ron had decided that just because there was no Quidditch that year, it didn't mean they had to go all year without flying. So, Harry grabbed his broom, Ron borrowed one of his own, and they made the trek to the pitch. Malfoy, apparently, had had the same idea, only Malfoy's friends, Crabbe and Goyle, weren't exactly the flying types, and being outnumbered by himself, Malfoy retreated after only a few colourful comments. 

Harry was in the shower later, feeling uplifted by flight and victorious having won against an encounter with Malfoy. He always felt victorious when that happened, a warm, bright bubble of _yes_ in his chest. And Malfoy just had to give Harry that unguarded look when they surprised him, the look he always gave Harry before he realised he was _Harry_ and his face slammed down in a hateful sneer.

Harry sighed and scrubbed his sweaty hair from his forehead. His breathing had long since recovered as he laid there brooding, but he was still cooling off from his activity. He hadn't even pulled his pants back up, he realised, which he quickly remedied. 

That first fantasy of Malfoy had been a good one though. He believed it started with imagining an encounter with him in the locker room. He thought maybe he originally imagined that Malfoy had been waiting there, pouting until the pitch was clear, and Harry walked in to use those showers instead of just going back to the castle with Ron. And Malfoy would have gotten flustered over having been caught trying to wait them out, and Harry would have called him on it, and it would lead to them arguing, which would lead to them pushing at each other… 

Somewhere in there, while Harry, all those weeks ago, thought of this and showered, he realised he had started stroking himself. Realising that switched the images up almost immediately, where Harry was still pushing up against Malfoy, but he wasn't using his mouth to yell at the git.

It wasn't until after he was spent that he even registered that his traitorous body found that idea better than any fantasy Harry had had to date. He was _mortified._

Honestly, it made him practically allergic to wanking for about a week after.

Grumbling to himself, he made sure he was cleaned up and his _Muffliato_ cancelled then curled onto his side. He was put out; he couldn't help it.

The second time it happened, he had been trying to think of Cho, wasn't getting off, became unbelievably frustrated, and just wanted to finish, alright? He let go of control of his thoughts, rode his hand until it was over, then as he was coming back to earth, he ended up crash-landing _hard_ while he could still see a fantasy-Malfoy on his knees between Harry's legs.

He excused it after he got over the shock and appalling fact that it happened _again_. It was just because of the last time, that was all, that was what he told himself. It was a good wank the first time, and that was entirely Malfoy's doing and Malfoy's fault, the blame of that rested with the blond _only_ , and it just happened again because he just really wanted a good pull. That was _it._

Tonight, though…

Harry swallowed thickly and flicked his bed curtains open a little to see out the window. He scowled at it. 

Tonight was just a fluke.

Never again. Malfoy could piss off. Harry had enough to worry about.

_____

"Like them, Potter?" said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. "And this isn't all they do—look!"

Malfoy pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowered green:

**POTTER STINKS**

The Slytherins howled with laughter, each of them following Malfoy's lead and pressing their badges. _POTTER STINKS_ shone brightly around them, and Harry felt his face and neck heat up.

He slowly blinked up to meet Malfoy's gaze. As he did so, an image from the night before—an unguarded Malfoy underneath a messy mop of white-blond hair—flashed across his vision, and it stung. It really did.

Because this was his life, not that stupid fantasy. His reality didn't feature a Malfoy who smiled lopsidedly, even if it was still cocky, who had miles of pale skin and would use his smooth, posh voice to encourage Harry to touch him. Nowhere in his reality would or could there be a Malfoy who would ever even _say_ , "So good, Harry," let alone whisper it to him gently while running a hand through Harry's hair.

When Malfoy returned his gaze, his nasty smirk faltered slightly, and Harry hurriedly looked away, not at all confident his face wasn't showing every inch of how badly it stung.

"Oh _very_ funny," Hermione said sarcastically to Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, "really _witty._ "

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn't laughing, but he wasn't sticking up for Harry either. It made Harry's chest tightened even more.

He was at the end of his rope, he really was. Some of the anger he had been feeling for days and days seemed to burst through that tightness, leaving his chest shattered.

"Want one, Ron?" he snapped. Ron looked startled at having been addressed. "You could probably enlarge it, stick it to your Canon's poster. I can even autograph it for you, how's that?"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed while Ron's face went red.

"Ooh, trouble in paradise?" Malfoy cooed. He was back to smirking and held out a badge to Ron. "Well, here you go, Weasley, enjoy. I've got loads. But don't touch my hand, now. I've just washed it, you see; don't want Weasley slime on it."

Harry was whipping his wand out in no time, ready to hex Malfoy into next week, even though he himself just snapped at Ron. 

Because that was what Malfoy did to Harry—always somehow burrowing into him, making him react before thought had time to catch up.

What was worse was that Malfoy took his challenge calmly, evenly, and even as he enjoyed it. The look in his eye made Harry's blood thrum.

Their spells ricocheted off each other. Goyle was sent to the hospital wing, Snape brought Hermione to tears at her rapidly growing teeth, and both Harry and Ron lost Gryffindor fifty points and got detention each. If that wasn't bad enough, he was removed from Double Potions for stupid press photos and the Weighing of the Wands for the Tournament. Even if Harry wasn't having a problem wanking for girls, he had a sneaky suspicion Rita Skeeter could put him off females for life.

The only thing Harry had, his only saving grace, was the letter he received from Sirius later that night and the prospect of talking to his godfather face-to-face in a fortnight.

As he climbed into bed, he thought about the night before and how he thought a bit of wanking would do him some good.

He resolutely decided he was the idiot Malfoy always claimed him to be, and he thought maybe, perhaps, he needed to take a break from wanking altogether.

____

The next morning, Harry woke up already horrified because his body, apparently, had decided to get revenge for the wank-ban and give him a wet dream about _Malfoy_. A vivid wet dream, and a truly haunting realisation that he really _liked_ it. Then when he left his dorms, he came to another realisation: that he didn't have to worry about dying in the tournament. No, he was going to die from pure and utter humiliation if more blows didn't stop coming.

"I figured you'd want to see this before going into the Great Hall," Hermione said sympathetically.

Generally, lately, Harry had been avoiding the Great Hall whenever he could, which included sulking in his rooms until he couldn't put off leaving them any longer. Hermione had been waiting for him in the common room, and she had with her Rita Skeeter's article.

Harry was gaping from it to her. He was pretty sure his face was getting stuck in that expression.

"I know," was all Hermione said.

Harry made himself breathe and looked down at the article again.

"'Sometimes at night I still cry about them, I'm not ashamed to admit…'" Harry read dumbly. Then abruptly, "I NEVER SAID ANYTHING LIKE THIS!"

Hermione winced. "I know, Harry."

"HOW CAN SHE—SHE CAN'T DO THIS!"

"Well, she has."

"SHE _CAN'T,_ SHE—" Harry cut himself with an audible click of his jaw. He stared hopelessly at Hermione.

She winced again. "I'm so sorry, Harry. That woman is absolutely horrible!"

" _Everyone's_ going to see this."

Hermione nodded.

With a furious roar, Harry balled up the paper and threw it across the room. A few first years that had been in there scrambled as soon as Harry started yelling, and now it was just them. Harry rubbed his face roughly. He felt a slight stinging in his eyes, and he took care to rub them extra hard. The absolute _last_ thing he was going to do was to get teared up over this, even if they were just tears of pure fury.

"I can't go on like this. I can't do this."

"I know it's hard, Harry," Hermione reassured him, patting his shoulder. "But you _can_ do this. Just… ignore the _Prophet._ Ignore everyone else. Just focus on the first task."

The mention of the task made his stomach roll. He shook her off. "I just… I… Air. I need air."

He had about another hour before lessons began, and if he was going to have any hope of surviving the day, he needed to get his emotions under control.

The shock of being in the Tournament was wearing off, and terror over what was to come was slowly beginning to take over. He had been feeling it build and build, had been trying to dissuade it, ignore it, change it into something else. He had been trying to stand strong, trying to at least show the world that he was a man, even if he was a miniature one. Sure, he was nothing compared to Cedric, he didn't begrudge anyone for supporting him over Harry, but he had wanted, at least, to prove to himself that he was strong. Even if he didn't feel it.

But here he was, overloaded with emotion and running from, what, a _Prophet_ article? How was he supposed to face the Tournament if he ran like hell over an article?

Harry rushed outside to the grounds and tried to find a place where absolutely no one would see him or bother him. He ended up selecting a small area among the boathouses, lake and castle. A good size boulder blocked his view of the rest of the grounds, and there weren't any windows at that part of the castle. He wasn't worried about anything from the lake seeing him, of course.

He curled his knees up to his chest and, taking off his glasses to have them dangle in his hands, buried his face in his knees. He took slow even breaths.

 _This isn't the end of the world_ , he told himself. It was humiliating, utterly humiliating—did Skeeter even mention the other Champions? The whole thing seemed to be selectively an article on Harry alone. He thought maybe he saw mentions of the other schools at the tail end, but he didn't think Cedric was even mentioned.

 _I can do this,_ he told himself. _I_ can.

Eventually, he allowed his head to fall back against the castle wall, shoving his glasses back on.

It was perhaps unfortunate because the movement seemed to have drawn attention from a figure leaving one of the boathouses. The sun was at an angle that it was difficult for Harry to see who it was, but the figure seemed comfortable approaching him. Wildly, he hoped it was Ron, coming to apologise and offer comradery over the article.

It wasn't.

"Need a tissue, Potter," Malfoy drawled. He was close enough now for Harry to see properly, and as he got closer still, the sun was blocked completely, giving Harry a perfect view. "Weeping over mummy and daddy already today? Bit early, isn't it?"

Harry thought back to his dream. The other fantasies he had had. He stared openly at Malfoy's jaw and neck right then, wondering just how long that long neck could become when thrown back to give Harry access. It was an idle wonder, one that didn't much stir anything in Harry past the descending numbness he was giving himself over to.

"You don't actually believe a word of that article, do you?" Harry asked, sounding flat to his own ears. He was curious, though. He found he truly wanted to know what Malfoy thought.

Malfoy's sneer slipped a little, probably at Harry not rising to his bait like he usually did. "You mean you don't trust your idiotic parents are watching over you?"

Malfoy didn't entirely sound like he believed him, and that stung in and of itself that Malfoy could actually believe Harry had said anything like that. Just like it stung that Ron would actually believe Harry put his name in the Goblet.

It made Harry frown at Malfoy, knowing he looked as miserable as he felt. "Most of the things _I_ said to that horrible woman was, 'er', and 'no.' Is she even allowed to do this? How can she do this?"

He looked mournfully across the lake.

"Why is any of this happening?"

Malfoy snorted. "Should have thought of that before you put your name in the Goblet."

Anger spiked in Harry, and he jumped up, glaring. "I _didn't_ put my name in! God, Malfoy, how can you— _you,_ of all people, think that?"

"What does that mean?" Malfoy snapped back. "Me, of all people?"

"Because it's _you!_ " Harry shouted. "You're _Draco Malfoy_. Put aside the fact that you should be clever enough to know, but it's _you_ and _me._ _You_ know me better than probably anyone else in this damn castle!"

"Oh, come off it," Malfoy argued back. "You're right, I _do_ know you, so you can't lie to me that you didn't at least think of being a Hogwarts Champion."

"Thought about it? Yeah! But," Harry inexplicably stepped closer, finding that he really wanted Malfoy to know the _truth_ , "do you honestly think I would do this to myself? I don't need gold, and I don't want fame!"

Malfoy seemed to consider him, then huffed, dismissing Harry's argument. "If it wasn't you, who the bloody hell was it?"

"Wish I knew!" Harry yelled. "Wouldn't be the first time someone tried to kill me, though, but it is the most creative, I'll give them that. _Let's make Potter's life so miserable, that when death comes, he'll be glad for it!_ "

"Oh, don't be so dramatic."

"I'm not!"

"Right," Malfoy drawled, eyes narrowed. "You expect me to believe someone—other than me—wants you dead so badly they would go through all this trouble. Right. Just like we're supposed to believe you fought the Dark Lord at eleven, slain a basilisk at twelve, and fought off hundreds of dementors at thirteen. No, it sounds to me like this is just another year where Precious Potter has found a way to make himself a hero of legends once again."

Harry gaped at Malfoy, slowly taking his words in. "Are you serious? You… you think I've been _lying_ this whole time? For all these years?"

Malfoy looked slightly unsure of him for a moment but visibly reaffirmed his stance. "I sure as Merlin don't think you've been telling the truth."

A challenge rose in Harry. He couldn't believe that Malfoy, _Malfoy_ of all people, this whole time, thought Harry was a liar. Making up grand stories to be heroic and famous instead of actually barely surviving one trauma after another. Harry thought he knew the truth, was just spreading that Harry was lying just to, oh, he didn't know, bully Harry and isolate him. But he really thought that? For real? It was unacceptable. It was simply unacceptable.

Harry had to shake himself out of his shock. "I can prove it."

Malfoy blinked in surprise at him then laughed bitterly. "Sure you can."

"I can," Harry said with conviction. "I can take you right into the Chamber of Secrets."

Malfoy gaped. "No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. But only you. I'm not cornering myself in Salazar's secret lair with a bunch of Slytherins."

"Oh my god, Potter, you're serious. Are you really this delusional?"

"I'm not delusional! And I'm not a liar! I don't know how to prove to you what happened last year and first year, but I can prove that the basilisk thing did happen."

Malfoy looked like he didn't know rather Harry was insane and he should laugh at him, or Harry was insane and he should run for the hills.

"Tonight," Harry decided. "After curfew. Meet me where the heir let his messages in our second year."

Malfoy's jaw dropped fully then, eyes widened, and satisfied, Harry spun on heels and marched back to the castle. He didn't look back, but it was a close thing.

His heart was beating wildly as he made his way to this first lesson. A large part of himself was just internally staring blankly at the other parts himself, asking what in the world he thought he was doing. Another part of him was thrilled. His skin felt like it was thrumming, and his stomach was doing flips. And yet another part of him tried to complain about having emotional whip-lash, but honestly, the prospect of secretly meeting Malfoy that night made everything else seem… less miserable.

And really, he couldn't believe that this whole time, Malfoy really did think Harry was an attention-grabbing liar. Those weren't even good lies. God, how embarrassing, that Malfoy for years thought Harry actually and purposely spread a rumour that he pulled Gryffindor's sword from the Sorting Hat and slain a basilisk. Harry knew very well how ridiculous it sounded, which was why Harry assumed _Malfoy_ at least would know it was real, even if he didn't know about his father's part in it. If Harry was spreading attention-seeking rumours, he wouldn't have gone with _that._ Though, perhaps he didn't know about that part. Harry was never sure exactly what got around the school as he never actually talked about outside of Ron and Hermione.

Did Malfoy just really not know Harry? 

Harry meant it when he said he thought Malfoy might have been the only person to really know him, but he had to admit, he assumed Malfoy knew him so well because Malfoy was just so good at pushing his buttons. Malfoy always knew exactly what to say or do to push Harry over the edge.

What was probably the most unhelpful and ridiculous thing about it, however, was that currently, Harry felt like he had an opportunity to gain an ally. Which if that didn't speak to how lonely and desperate he had been feeling lately, he didn't know what would.

It probably wasn't the brightest idea. It would probably backfire on him in ways he couldn't begin to fathom. Malfoy would probably find a way to use this to make Harry's life more miserable.

But, as the day continued, and Malfoy only half-heartedly joined the Slytherins at teasing him relentlessly, and Harry kept catching Malfoy watching him curiously during the day and meals, his resolve continued to strengthen. For one, it was a nice distraction from everything else, picturing and wondering how the night was going to go, and for another, it seemed to be a good enough distraction for Malfoy as well to make him forget about the article. It felt a little victorious for Harry to see Malfoy accidentally let a lot of jab-opportunities slip past him because he was too busy staring at Harry like he couldn't figure him out.

Before leaving dinner, Harry made sure to catch Malfoy's eye and mouth, " _After curfew"_ to him, as if Malfoy was going to forget. Then he followed Hermione into the library where he pretended to study but was instead anxiously waiting for when it was time to meet him.

He thought of several scenarios of how it was going to go.

The first was Malfoy not showing up at all. Harry wouldn't be surprised if he didn't. If Harry was in his shoes, he would consider not going on the off-chance it was a prank of some kind, designed as a concentrated affront to humiliate and cause as much emotional damage as possible. Or like the prank Malfoy pulled in their first year, trying to get him caught out after curfew. Harry would still have gone, though, because his curiosity was always getting the better of him, even if it would get him in trouble.

What Harry thought was the second scenario was Malfoy showing up, but after being told the entrance was in the girls' toilet, not believe Harry, hex him to an inch of his life, and then tell the _Prophet_ the next day that Potter was lying-liar who tried to use his lying-lies to lure innocent victims like himself into girls' public toilets and get them into trouble. The thought actually got a very begrudged grin from Harry because wouldn't that be a hell of a follow-up for today's article.

Then there was the third, which was Malfoy would show up, humour Harry until Harry showed him the dead basilisk, and then Malfoy would believe him. He would believe Harry hadn't been an attention-seeking lying-liar all these years. He would believe that Harry did _not_ put his name in the Goblet and that someone was trying to kill him. Again. 

What Malfoy would do with that information, Harry couldn't guess, but Harry's brain was apparently on a campaign to cause Harry great anguish because it unhelpfully supplied an image of what Malfoy could do to apologise for not believing Harry. After all, in the Chamber of Secrets, they would be alone without any chance of being interrupted. And why did his brain _do_ this?

Why— _why, why, why_ —couldn't he be a normal boy? _Why_ did he have to think about boys this way, and for Merlin's sake _why_ did he have those thoughts about _Draco Malfoy_?

Harry pushed away those distressing thoughts, reminded himself his crush was _Cho Chang_ , a girl—a girl who was nice—and tried to let it go.

He actively ignored the exciting flutters in his stomach when once returned to Gryffindor Tower, he told Hermione he was going to call it an early night, grabbed his Marauder's Map and Cloak, and carefully snuck back out as the prefects were hoarding in the last of the straggling Gryffindors.

He had no idea why he was doing this. He really shouldn't be doing this. But dreams and thoughts aside, showing Malfoy exactly what he did to the basilisk sounded both satisfying and helped give him more courage about what was to come with the tournament.

Malfoy was still in the Slytherin commons when Harry arrived outside Moaning Myrtle's toilet. Harry supposed if Malfoy was not going to show up, Harry could eventually tell via the map. He would just go back to his commons and forget the whole thing.

He didn't know which he wanted.

He watched Malfoy as he seemed to systematically move around the common room. At one point, it looked like he was going back and forth between Crabbe and Goyle who appeared to be at some tables. Harry thought maybe Malfoy was helping them with homework or something, but the thought sounded so un-Malfoy like, Harry didn't know what to make of it.

Eventually, Malfoy moved to his dorm room then reemerged a moment later. He strolled purposely out of the common room, seemingly unstopped by everyone else in there, and Harry couldn't stop a grin as he watched Malfoy expertly yet cautiously make his way to where Harry was.

Malfoy very slowly peeked around the corner at the end of the corridor, and Harry watched with amusement as Malfoy emerged, wand already out and ready, to squint down the seemingly empty hall.

"Potter?" he whispered. "I swear to god if this turns out to be a trick…"

Schooling his features, Harry carefully stepped behind a suit of armour to hide his Cloak and map (he definitely didn't want Malfoy knowing about those) and then stepped out.

Malfoy jumped a little upon seeing him. 

"You showed," Harry stated.

"Obviously," Malfoy sneered.

"Are you alone?" Harry asked, despite already knowing he was.

"Yes," Malfoy snapped. "Why? Was this just a ploy to lure me out or something? Because you could have hexed me outside this morning—we were quite alone then."

Harry was grateful that Malfoy sounded so hateful because he felt like that last statement would have had a different effect on Harry in any other tone. "I'm not hexing you," Harry sighed. "I really do want to show you the Chamber of Secrets."

"Right," Malfoy said, sounding like he one-thousand-percent didn't believe him. 

"Really."

"Why?" Malfoy asked, raising his wand slightly like he was ready to attack. Harry felt like reaching for his own, but he had a small suspicion that if he did that, they would just fall into old habits and really would hex each other. "Why would you, Potter, show _me_ the Chamber of Secrets? This has to be a trick."

"No trick," Harry shrugged. "And I don't know. Look… you don't have to, you know. You don't have to come with me. But I really do know where the Chamber of Secrets is, and I really did fight the basilisk. I just want to prove it to you."

"Why?" Malfoy asked again, sounding extremely hesitant.

Harry shrugged again. "Because it doesn't sit right with me, I guess. That you, especially _you_ , don't believe me."

"Because you care about my opinion oh so much," Malfoy said flatly.

Harry threw out his hands. "Apparently I do a little. Look, are you coming with me, or not?"

Malfoy considered him for a long time. "Fine, but I reserve the right to leave at any point, and if you do _anything_ , you'll be sorry."

"Noted," Harry snorted. He started toward the bathroom then stopped and turned back to Malfoy, who hadn't moved and still had his wand aimed at Harry. "Can you put that away please?" 

"No."

Harry sighed. "You paranoid little… Okay, listen… I _really,_ really am going to show you, but erm… Look, I know exactly how this is going to sound, alright?"

"Okay…"

"Just… remember that I didn't pick its entrance. That's all on your mate Salazar."

"Spit it out, Potter."

"Okay, okay. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is… in there," he gestured.

Malfoy, whose face was only lit by the bright moonlight coming in through the window, blinked at the door a couple of times then said flatly, "Right. Yeah, I'm leaving."

He turned, hurrying down the hall. Harry, and he still wasn't sure why he was bothering, chased after him, skidding in front of him to stop from going. "I'm not having you on. I promise. It is in there."

"You expect me to believe that not only did you slay Slytherin's monster with a Gryffindor sword, but you did so inside the Chamber of Secrets whose entrance is in a girls' toilet."

Ah, so he did know about the sword. He repressed a wince. "No. I'm _asking_ you for the chance to prove it to you."

Malfoy's hard eyes examined Harry's face for several long moments, and Harry wanted to punch him. He felt more determined now more than ever to _prove_ to this git that he wasn't lying.

And there it was. That tingle of _challenge_ straightening his spine. He cocked an eyebrow at Malfoy.

"Scared?"

Malfoy snorted that time. "In your dreams."

"Then come on," and Harry pushed around him and headed straight toward the toilets.

It was exactly the same, and Harry was relieved Moaning Myrtle didn't seem to be around. He strolled up to the sink, lighting his wand to find the right faucet. He heard when Malfoy entered.

Malfoy hummed. "For a girls' toilet, I didn't expect it to be so…"

"I know, right?" Harry huffed with a small grin. "But it's not really in use anymore. Mostly because of Moaning Myrtle. She was the victim, you know, the girl that died the first time the Chamber was opened."

Malfoy made a small sound and mumbled, "I didn't know that."

"Here," Harry said, finding the right sink. He looked over his shoulder to gesture Malfoy over. Malfoy approached cautiously, wand still out but at least not up and ready to curse Harry. "You can come closer, you git, I don't bite."

Malfoy looked like that was debatable but did finally seem to drop some more of his guard and came closer.

"Okay, see, this faucet, compared to this one?"

Malfoy, engaged, lit his own wand and squinted down. "One has a snake on it."

"Mhm. That's how I found it."

"Huh," Malfoy frowned. "It's just… been here, all this time? Has no one ever questioned why one random sink so far from the dungeons has a snake on it?"

"If they did, they didn't ask it loud enough," Harry agreed. "Okay, take a step back. I'm going to open it."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "How?"

"Parseltongue," Harry grinned, knowing it was a button for the blond. "The sinks will open up and reveal a hole."

Malfoy scowled at him but crossed his arms and stepped back.

Harry, still grinning, looked back at the snake. He imagined it being real, took a breath, then said, " _Open_ ," in Parseltongue.

Immediately, the stone and tile started moving and slowly sunk into the ground, and in their place was the hole.

"That is both admittedly impressive yet equally disappointing," Malfoy said, looking interested despite himself.

It pulled a real chuckle from Harry, which seemed to surprise Malfoy. Some more of his guard was dropping, and encouraged by it, reminding Harry of his daydreams and the dream the night before, Harry gave him a real smile. "I know. There's another entrance down below you might find more acceptable."

"Wait…" Malfoy said, his guard returning instantly. "We're… going in that?" he pointed to the hole.

Harry nodded. "It slides all the way down."

"No," Malfoy shook his head. "No. No way."

Some of that good feeling started twisting in annoyance again. "What? Why?"

"Potter, that hole of yours looks _filthy_ , and I have no idea what's down there."

Harry scowled, crossing his own arms. "Are you kidding me? Do you not believe me _so_ much that you don't trust me?"

Malfoy scowled back. "Potter, you are the last person I would _ever_ trust."

It felt like a slap in the face. "Fine. _Close._ " The last he said in Parseltongue, and the sink obediently began closing. "Fine. Go on believing I'm the world's biggest tosser who actually _likes_ all this tosh shoved onto me. Go ahead and hate me, making me miserable at every turn, making me feel like shit over things that _aren't my fault!_ Fine! See if I care!"

And _hating_ himself for sounding very much that he did care, Harry stormed from the loo and right to where he hid the Cloak and map. By the time he was under the Cloak and invisible, Malfoy was pushing through the door, whisper-yelling, "Potter!"

Harry watched, a little pacified to see Malfoy jog down at the end of the corridor calling out for him, then the next. He swore loudly, said, " _Potter_ ," like Harry was truly the vain of his existence, then went inside the toilets again. Harry thought about following, and seeing what Malfoy was going to do, but before he could make up his mind, Malfoy was audibly casting a _Mufflicato_ and apparently, a few other spells at the door, including a locking one, Harry surmised when he tried to push it.

Harry decided he really was such an idiot. Why in the world he thought showing _Malfoy_ the Chamber of Secrets was something he should have ever done, he didn't know, and he marched back to Gryffindor tower. 

He blamed the dream. He blamed the wanks. He blamed his life being a complete nightmare, and because of the dream and the wanks, and finding out that Malfoy— _Malfoy_ —didn't believe him, any of it, of anything that had happened to Harry, was just too much to bear. Because it meant Malfoy's predictions of what would happen to Harry in the tournament was something he actually believed. Because it meant that Malfoy fully expected Harry to make a fool of himself and die. That Malfoy wasn't just being hateful toward Harry but quite literally _meant_ every word that passed through his full, posh, slightly chapped lips—and _ooh_ , did Harry hate himself that he knew _exactly_ what Malfoy's lips looked like and had imagined what they felt like. 

It was like if he could _show_ Malfoy, really show him that he was capable of _something_ , it would help somehow. If Malfoy had to concede that Harry might have had a chance just to survive, forget winning, then maybe Harry really did.

He punched his pillow a few times before officially curling up for bed. He was fuming, extra furious that he was still watching Malfoy on the map, where he had been in the toilets, obviously studying the sinks. Moaning Myrtle joined him, and he thought about going back under the Cloak just to see if he could find a way to eavesdrop on their conversation, hoping against hope that Malfoy was questioning the ghost about what she knew and was confirming that Harry really, actually did do what he said he did in second year.

Harry wiped the map blank, chucked it, and shoved his head under his pillow. He made himself review his current History of Magic essay, the most boring thing he could think of until he eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

____

Harry skived off the next day. 

It was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic. But he couldn't take it; he just needed a break from constantly seeing the hateful faces, of hateful words being hissed at him. The whole thing with Malfoy was bringing back memories from when this happened in second year, which just continued to make him miserable.

He thought about writing Sirius, to see if there was any way he could talk to him sooner than scheduled. He decided against it, though, knowing Sirius was taking too big a risk as it was.

Hermione wouldn't let him skip another day, however, so he endured two more days of the torture that was Hogwarts student gangs and the rumour mill. He was shoved in the hallways, openly laughed at, and stupid Malfoy's badges seemed to have gotten around the entire school. Everywhere he went, people were laughing at him, pointing at him, loudly predicting his death, and he could have dealt with it, clenched his teeth and let it go, but with everyone, he couldn't help but wonder if they, too, thought he was a lying fake who really did just want the attention.

It didn't help that actual terror of the first task, which was drawing steadily nearer, had settled into his bones. It got harder and harder to picture any kind of a future for himself, like his entire life had led to and would end with the first task. He had never suffered nerves like these. It made him jumpy, which made him furious with himself. At least with the other things that apparently no one believed he ever did, he didn't have time to be nervous. But with this, it felt like nerves of an upcoming Quidditch match, but a million times worse because it wasn't just nerves about whether or not he would win, but instead like a giant monster was in his path that he was unable not to walk, waiting to eat him.

He avoided Malfoy. He refused to even look at him, even when Malfoy tried addressing him with hateful, and admittedly hurtful remarks with his Slytherins. Hermione noticed, had asked, but Harry brushed her off.

The worst of it, or so it felt when it happened, was that Malfoy had apparently ruined wanking for Harry. Because no matter what Harry tried, if Harry actually got in the groove of it and started enjoying himself, _Malfoy_ would erupt in his mind. He was helpless to stop it, helpless to get rid of it, and the climaxes were so good thinking of Malfoy pressed against him, Malfoy's hands replacing Harry's, that Harry didn't _want_ to stop. It was driving him insane, and he refused to think about it. As a result, every wank put him in worse and worse moods. 

The closest he came to letting himself think about it was worrying over the whole bloke-thing of the matter, but as he already had enough to worry about, he tried not to.

After a weekend of blatantly hiding, Harry found himself alone in his dorm, trying to study, when a tap came to the window. It was almost pathetic, with how his heart rate picked up merely because he recognised the owl. Of course, he recognised the owl. It was the same owl he had seen make near-daily deliveries to the Slytherin table for four years now.

Cautious, a bit distrustful of the owl as he was of its human, Harry slowly opened his window and let it in. It gave him a baleful look but stuck out its leg.

"Er, thanks," Harry tried, taking the letter. He looked around for owl treats only to have to resort to borrowing some of Seamus'. The eagle owl took the treat but didn't leave, so Harry figured it was waiting for a reply from Harry.

With a sigh, Harry unrolled the scroll.

_Potter,_

_I'm not saying I believe you, and I think your word is shit. But, I am willing for you to try to show me the CoS again. Tonight, after curfew, same place._

_D Malfoy_

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, you deign to allow me, huh?"

It was pathetic and stupid about how he couldn't say that without smiling. He could refuse Malfoy, but he knew he wouldn't.


	2. "Okay"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember I said this started as purely self-indulgent because this chapter is absolutely self-indulgent. It's almost Monday, so I decided to go ahead and post this with hopes of posting the next chapter in the morning which actually introduces more actual plot and things.
> 
> Heads up for Harry's explosive temper. I'm basically running this off the characterisation of how Harry is when under tremendous pressure--which in this he already is but then add in the tension of coming to terms with sexuality and being a disaster-gay. If it doesn't work, just let me know! Happy to edit and change!

Harry found himself pleased when Malfoy was already waiting for him. He snuck behind the same suit of armour to hide his things then slipped out, causing Malfoy to once again jump.

He scowled at Harry. "How do you do that?"

Harry grinned back. "I'm not telling you all my secrets, Malfoy."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms, but he guarded Harry curiously. "You seem different."

Harry's grin slipped. He sighed, looking away. He was honestly just relieved to be getting this chance. Every scenario and imaginings he had about showing Malfoy the Chamber of Secrets came back with full-force since getting Malfoy's note. But like last time, it only proved a distraction rather than a cure.

When he looked back, Malfoy was frowning at him, and he shrugged. "Ready to do this or not?"

"Fine."

Malfoy led the way to the sink, obviously more comfortable than before. Harry couldn't help but wonder if he tried imitating Parselmouth to open it. He wouldn't put it past the git. He also noticed that Malfoy was in much more casual robes. In fact, knowing Malfoy's usual outfits as he did, Harry was pretty sure those were the most worn he probably own, making them the perfect ones to go sliding downpipes in. 

Harry himself was just in regular trousers and a jumper. He thought for a moment about removing the jumper, just wearing his vest, but as he was not going to be fighting basilisks and Riddle this time around, he figured he was probably going to feel the chill. It wasn't an important jumper anyway.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Obviously," Malfoy sneered back.

It only made Harry grin a little again, however, and he looked back to the sink and opened it. Without waiting for Malfoy, he jumped.

The slide down was exactly as he remembered, and he would like to have said his landing was significantly more graceful. Perhaps encouraged by Harry taking the first jump, like Harry knew he would be, Malfoy wasn't far behind, and Harry had to quickly scoot away to keep the blond from slamming into him.

Malfoy groaned, rolling onto his stomach. "That was unpleasant."

"A bit," Harry agreed, standing and wiping his hands. "And I wouldn't let your face get too close to the ground. There are loads of bones down here."

Malfoy yelped and shot up, scrubbing his face. Harry resisted the urge to laugh at him.

"It's alright," he said. He had an urge to pat his shoulder or elbow or something and lifted his hand to do just that before he caught himself and let it fall away. Instead, he lit his wand. "Er, alright, it's this way."

Malfoy was still sputtering, rubbing at his cheeks and mouth, and Harry patiently waited for him to finish. When he did, he gave Harry an impatient look and gestured at him as though _Harry_ was the one holding them up. Harry rolled his eyes and began to lead the way.

It was quiet with only distant echoes of dripping water, just like before, only this time, there were also small scurrying sounds, most likely rats running away from them. He felt an ominous chill being back. He was so caught up in proving Malfoy wrong, he hadn't thought what returning would make him _feel_ like.

He gulped, casting his conscious mind to the right path as best he remembered it, firmly telling himself that the danger was _dead_ , and just began talking.

"Last time it was quieter. I don't know if the thing had just been living down here or was in an enchanted sleep or something, but the last time, it was the predator kind of quiet, y'know? We had no idea where the hell it was. All year, I kept hearing these voices, and it was Hermione who figured out it was a basilisk, and I could hear it because of Parseltongue and everything. She also figured out it was using the pipes. But it kept saying how hungry it was, how long it had been, that it could smell blood and was ready to kill."

He paused to shiver at the memory. He shook his head.

"Anyway, when Ginny was taken, we had figured out where the entrance was, what the monster was, all of that. Ron and I actually went to tell the professors what we knew when the alert was sounded, so we hid in the staff room, wanting to find out what had happened. That's how we learned about Ginny. Lockhart was here, I'm sure you remember him…"

He paused again, examining where they could go one of three ways. He tried to think back, going over his memories again.

"Right, this way." Malfoy's footsteps echoed very quietly as he steadily followed, not interrupting. "Anyway, Lockhart had apparently been bragging all year that he always knew where the entrance was, what the monster was, all that tosh. We didn't realise it until later, but when the other professors told him now was his time to shine and go take care of the monster, they were actually just getting rid of him. We didn't realise that though. So, we ran to Lockhart to tell him what we knew, and we found him packing. He was going to run."

Malfoy snorted. "Naturally."

Harry shrugged back at him. He noticed Malfoy also had his wand out, but it wasn't lit and just hung loosely in his hand. Harry resumed, "I guess we caught him off guard, and when we saw he was running, we kind of confronted him. He admitted to us that he never actually did any of those things in his books, instead he stole the stories and _Obliviated_ the actual people who…"

He trailed off as they got to a large pile of rubble and what was left of the basilisk skin. Harry knew what it was immediately, but it took Malfoy a moment to suck in a huge breath.

"This is where Lockhart cursed himself."

"What?" Malfoy breathed, looking wide-eyed at the skin.

"See, after he told us what he did, he tried to _Obliviate_ us, but he—"

"What?" Malfoy said again, snapping his head to Harry. Although it was hard to see his facial expression in such little lighting, his tone was clearly incredulous.

"I know. But we were quicker and cast _Expelliarmus_. We decided then we were going to go after Ginny—just me and Ron, mind, with Hermione petrified and all—and bring him with us."

"Why?" Malfoy asked. They were still paused in the same spot, Malfoy having gone back to looking at the partial basilisk skin.

"To keep him from doing anything else. And honestly? A bit of revenge. He was also useful to test out the stone-slide first, and I figured it could help to have a shield."

Malfoy was looking back at him, expression still hidden in the shadows. This time, Harry couldn't make out his tone as he said, "How… Slytherin of you."

Harry shrugged, unable to stop his grin. He could tell Malfoy about almost being sorted Slytherin, but he figured he would save that for a time he actually could see his face. That was if he would ever tell him. "Anyway, here's where we stopped. The skin was still formed, see? Lockhart took the distraction to grab Ron's wand. He thought he had it all planned out too. He was going to curse us, go back up and maybe try to lead the professors this far or something, claim that he was too late to save us. Thing was, you remember how broken Ron's wand was all that year?"

Malfoy snorted once then actually barked a quick, albeit quiet, laugh. It reminded Harry a little of Sirius, if not much softer and more dignified. "Did he get sick with slugs?"

"Worse. The Memory Charm backfired awfully. He went flying back, causing the cave-in," he gestured around the rubble. "It left him and Ron on one side, me on the other. Ron stayed with Lockhart and began working to make that hole there. I went on."

"... Alone?"

Harry shrugged again, moving forward to the hole. "It'll be a tight fit now. Dunno if you want to try to make it bigger?"

"Not right now," Malfoy answered, sounding distracted as he too examined the hole.

"Want to go first or me?"

Harry didn't have to see his expression to know he was getting a very distrustful, condescending eyebrow.

"Right, sorry. Me first."

It took some wiggling, but Harry was able to make it through. Though Malfoy was taller, he was also narrower in frame, so it didn't take nearly as much wiggling. Harry still offered Malfoy a hand and told himself he wasn't disappointed when Malfoy scoffed at it.

"Right then, this way." Harry began to lead them again. He also began noticing a bad stench getting stronger.

"Then what happened?" Malfoy prompted after a few moments.

"Huh? Oh. Well, I went on…"

"And?" 

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. "And I found Ginny, killed the basilisk, and we left."

"Oh, yes, Potter, this is really convincing me you did what you said you did."

"Look, there were other circumstances around the Chamber being opened," Harry replied defensively. "And I have no idea how much you do and don't know, and if you don't know, I don't think I should be the one to tell you."

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you don't know who exactly was behind opening the Chamber and who exactly it was that helped him do it, I honestly don't think I should—nor would you want me to be—the one to tell you."

"That's ominous," Draco sighed but surprisingly sounded like he was caving. "Are we almost there?"

"Yeah," Harry assured.

They were quiet the rest of the way to what Harry considered the second entrance. Malfoy finally lit his own wand to examine the snake and ruby eyes. Harry stood back and let him study it until Malfoy was satisfied then hissed to open it. 

A horrible smell hit them, causing both of them to gag and stumble back, using their own arms to fully cover their mouths and noses. The stench was so strong, Harry's eyes watered. He was helpless but to cough, trying very hard not to get sick, and suddenly, Malfoy was yelling something muffled by his arm, and the smell was gone.

Harry still gagged and coughed, trying to get the stench out of his nose and throat.

"Something's dead in there, alright," Malfoy wheezed, using the back of his hand to still cover his nose and mouth—and most likely trying to keep from getting sick himself.

"Wh-... what was… what was that spell?" Harry managed to ask. He couldn't say the stench was actually gone, exactly, nor was he really breathing any type of fresh air, but it did feel like there was an invisible bubble around his head, filtering the air and cleaning it. 

"Charm Professor Snape taught me," Malfoy answered, gently tapping his nose.

"Huh?"

"Some Potions require… let's say, not the freshest of meat."

Harry made a face. He was curious but decided if he was still curious later, he would ask. For now, however: "Well… sorry I didn't think about the smell, but welcome to the Chamber of Secrets."

Draco eyed him, eyed the dark Chamber, seemed to want to ask something, but then he just nodded sharply.

This time, Malfoy led the way. Harry could see his face now, and his lips were parted and eyes huge—and unguarded—as he sent his _Lumos_ further out to help illuminate the whole Chamber.

It was exactly as Harry remembered, only instead of simply a dead basilisk where he left it, there was a rotting one.

Malfoy was slow as he approached it, a couple of times pausing to spin in place and take in the rest of the Chamber. He spent a long time looking at Slytherin's statue, and a longer time staring at the basilisk. He even came closer to its head where the sword's fatal blow was still visible.

Harry felt triumphant. Here, right in front of Malfoy, was irrefutable proof that Harry hadn't been lying. Here was the prove that Harry, at only twelve, had gone against Voldemort's memory and a basilisk and _won._ Harry had taken qualities of himself that scared him, worried him, concerned him, and he used them not just for the greater good but to save his best friend's sister. 

He winced a little, thinking of Ron, but the pain he felt over Ron's recent behaviour couldn't dim the _triumphant_ feeling. For the first time in a long while, Harry really let himself remember that horrible night, and he could feel proud. He stood his ground, and he won.

The tournament could take its best shot.

But then, Malfoy was rounding on him looking truly furious, and Harry took a step back.

"You mean to tell me…" Malfoy opened, and for once, he looked like he was really trying to control his voice and volume, "that you _actually_ terminated an _actual_ basilisk—you _knew_ for _years_ where a _full-grown_ basilisk was that could have been completely harvested— _and you did nothing!"_

"What?"

"Do you have _any_ idea how rare basilisks are?! Do you have _any idea_ how _valuable_ their parts are?! The venom alone, not to mention their eyes, their teeth, their bones—their _scales!_ Do you have any idea—of course, you don't. Of course, you don't. And you didn't once think of it, did you? You didn't _once_ think about how priceless— _bloody priceless_ —harvesting this beast could have been?! No, instead you sat on your throne, basked in the glory, and let this beast just _rot_ and waste away—"

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" Harry barked loudly. 

It echoed throughout the Chamber and made Malfoy click his jaw shut.

"No, I didn't _'once think about it'_. The only thing I could think about when I was down here last was saving Ginny, my own life be damned! And since then, I try my very best NEVER to think about it! To NEVER think about how terrified I was! How that monster sounded when it came in, how it hissed, how _he_ told it to eat me, WHAT IT FELT LIKE FOR ITS FANG TO GO THROUGH MY ARM!"

"... Wh—"

"I DIDN'T EXPECT TO LIVE! I KNEW I WAS DEAD! BUT I DID IT! I DIDN'T ASK ANYONE FOR IT, AND I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS! I WANTED _ONE_ YEAR, MALFOY! _ONE. ONE FUCKING YEAR_. BUT _NO!_ SOMEONE IS TRYING TO KILL ME _AGAIN_! AND MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

Harry hadn't realised he had been bellowing at the top of his lungs until he ran out of words. Stone dust was falling down around them from how his voice echoed so strongly, the ancient stones rattled. The invisible bubble Malfoy had cast around his head felt to have expanded, working overtime to accommodate Harry's rapid breathing.

Malfoy stood in front of him, lips parted, face blank, and staring at Harry with eyes that shone with an emotion Harry couldn't place. Slowly, what Harry had just spewed—and to _whom_ he spewed it—sunk in, and he let his head fall, humiliated and exhausted, and now terrified of how this was going to be used against him. He immediately tried to think of damage control, maybe threaten hexes or something, but he didn't think he entirely had it in him.

Malfoy still didn't move though. Harry gulped a few times, roughly and purposefully swallowing the lump that had tried to form there.

"I didn't ask for this," he said hoarsely. "I didn't put my name in the Goblet. I don't _care_ about the tournament. I don't care about the gold, the glory, the whatever. I just want to stay alive because, after everything, I can't stand the thought of dying for a stupid tournament."

They stood in silence, Harry steadfast looking at the dark ground. He clenched and unclenched his fists, mind racing of how Malfoy was going to use this, pushing away his dream, his daydreams, all of it, and trying his best to remember the _real_ Malfoy. The Malfoy he stupidly brought down here, the Malfoy who thought him a lying-liar—who either still didn't believe him, or did and now Harry had just gone and presented himself as weak. Given him even more of a weapon against him.

But then Malfoy was clearing his throat and said simply, "Okay."

Harry slowly looked back up at him through his lashes, keeping his head down, suspicious. "... Okay?"

"Okay," Malfoy repeated. 

"What does okay mean?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Did you scream out all your vocabulary? It means _okay._ Fine. Alright." He huffed and turned to survey the basilisk again. "I suppose this isn't a total loss. Basilisks are known to decompose more slowly than most animals, and the bones will be fine. I'll have to do some research, but most of her should be salvageable."

"... Wait, are you actually wanting to harvest the thing?"

"Of course," Malfoy waved a hand, dismissing Harry. "I'll need several tools, as well. Storage will be a problem, but once I remove that which is already rotten, with a few charms, I suppose we could store it here. Merlin knows the Chamber's big enough."

"Hold on a second, Malfoy—who the hell says I'll bring you back here?"

Malfoy looked back at him, raising a pompous brow. "Here I thought you _weren't_ the Heir of Slytherin."

Harry bristled. "I'm not!"

"Therefore, you have no right to decide my comings and goings. Arguably, as the Slytherin between us, I have more of a right to return here than you do. If you don't want to be involved, then don't. Just teach me how to open and close the entrances, and I'll take it from there."

"You know as well as I do that Parseltongue can't be taught."

"Ergo…" Malfoy smirked.

Harry crossed his arms but couldn't help a grin from wanting to spread on his face. "Fine."

"Excellent," Malfoy sneered back, although he did truly look pleased. "I'll have to do some measurements," he began, stepping back and using his hands to gauge the large beast, face pulling into a frown that Harry privately called the Malfoy-Potions face. It was one of pure concentration and focus, and for once, Harry let himself fully admire it.

He hated that he liked what he saw. 

In a way, Malfoy always somehow felt a little safe for Harry because when his face was pinched up in hateful judgment, it wasn't attractive. When his lips were curled around mean words, they were the furthest thing from tempting. When his hands were balled up in fists, Harry couldn't see just how long his fingers were. When his head was thrown back in cruel laughter, his Adam's apple that began to make itself known sometime before third year wouldn't actually bob up and down.

The Malfoy-Potions face wasn't something he let himself look at often because when his face was like that— eyebrows furrowed but not pinched, eyes narrowed critically but alit with accepting focus, lips pursed thoughtfully around his words that were smooth rather than sharp, hands relaxed with fingers twitching with his thoughts…

Harry gulped.

"—since the tail has been in the water this whole time, obviously. The colouring looks the same as I've read it described, so that's a good sign, I suppose. I'll have to check exactly where these creatures start rotting—"

His hair even seemed to relax when he was like this. Harry watched as some of it fell over an eye, and Malfoy simply flicked it away instead of mindfully brushing it back in its place. Harry couldn't say his shoulders were less tensed, but they were tense with perhaps excitement more than anything else. His hip cocked out as he pointed at something, and Harry wondered if he was wearing a belt. What that movement would do if he wasn't wearing a belt and his trousers were just a little big for him.

"This is going to be fantastic," Malfoy said with a small clap of his hands, making Harry jump.

He was looking at Harry now, face completely and utterly unguarded. Harry's lips parted as he forced himself to take a breath.

"Well, Potter?"

Harry blinked and realised he hadn't been listening. Malfoy was clearly expecting a reply but was not getting one, and as Harry watched, Malfoy's face twisted, the guardedness coming back in spades. "Gees, I'm sorry, Malfoy," he rushed to say, shaking his head. "Sorry, I got distracted. What did you ask?"

Malfoy huffed, clearly unimpressed. "I _said_ , I'll need a week to do some research, maybe a few days to get the supplies to at least start."

"Oh. Okay," Harry agreed readily, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Malfoy, however, looked more annoyed. "That's pushing it, don't you think?"

"Er… pushing what?"

"Oh my…" Malfoy's head dropped, him pinching the bridge of his nose and mumbling to himself. Harry only really caught "... impossible… trying _really_ hard…."

"What, Malfoy?" Harry snapped.

"The first task," Malfoy said slowly, looking back up at him with his eyebrows high on his forehead. "Merlin, Potter… I'm assuming you'll at _least_ want a few days to prepare."

"Oh… well, yeah."

"'Well, yeah', he says," Malfoy mocked. "Listen, Potter, if nothing else I can accept that you have a lot going on right now, and therefore, might be even stupider than what I usually give you credit for—which I imagine is no easy accomplishment, so congratulations there."

Harry scowled, crossing his arms and opening his mouth.

" _So_ ," Malfoy stressed to forgo Harry's interruption, "I perhaps might be willing to go the extra mile here and work with you despite that, but I will need you to occasionally _pay attention_."

Harry swallowed down some of his own hateful words. He thought about calling off the whole thing, maybe have Madam Pomfrey examine his head for why he clearly _lost his mind_ and brought Malfoy here, but something else was needling at him.

He needed to know _why_ —why he couldn't be normal, why Malfoy was getting his attention and popping into his mind, why he didn't seem able to stop. And this was somewhat safe, wasn't it? He knew Malfoy well enough to know he would guard the Chamber of Secrets as his own secret, as something special only he knew about. Sure, there might be rumours now, but they wouldn't be the rumours Harry was already suffering, and if Malfoy was going around hinting and bragging about his special Slytherin secret, it would take some heat off Harry. Meanwhile, while they were down there, Harry could, possibly, have an opportunity to figure out what the bloody hell was wrong with him. 

It was far-fetch reasoning, but, "Yeah, alright," he sighed, letting his arms drop. "Fine, Malfoy. Let me know when you're ready to come back down here, and we'll do it."

Malfoy seemed surprised but nonetheless pleased. "Excellent, Potter." He smirked. "And see, now you have more reason to survive the task because if you die before I can finish this beast, make no mistake… I will make your afterlife hell."

Harry huffed a tired, barely-there laugh. "Sure, Malfoy. Whatever you say."

"Whatever I say…" Malfoy's smirk deepened. "If you could just make that your motto, Potter, then this will be an excellent partnership."

"Oh, piss off," Harry rolled his eyes, turning to leave.

He was pleased himself, he supposed. He didn't get a definitive answer whether Malfoy believed him or not, and he didn't want to appear so pathetic as to actually ask, but Malfoy had said 'okay'. It was perhaps a foolishly optimistic hope, but it was still hope that Malfoy _did_ believe him. That he believed Harry didn't put his name in the Goblet. That there would be one more person out there during the task who knew Harry was being forced into this against his will, and with a major, major, major amount of luck— since it was still _Malfoy_ — would be rooting for Harry to succeed. Or just stay alive, which Malfoy clearly had to hope if he wanted to come back down—

Harry froze. They had made it all the way to the other side of the large Chamber to the second entrance, but it was only then occurring to Harry that though Harry knew how to get _into_ the Chamber, the last time, they only got out because…

"Crap…" he whispered, scrunching up his face in light of his own poor planning.

Malfoy had stopped too. "...What?" he asked suspiciously.

"Ah, crap, Malfoy," he said, rubbing his face. "Bloody hell."

"What?" Malfoy snapped.

"Ah, er… See… the thing is…"

"Potter…"

"See-see, the last time, er... " He looked at Malfoy and winced seeing his thoroughly suspicious glare. "The last time, we sort of… flew… out…"

Malfoy's jaw visibly tightened. "You flew out?"

Harry nodded, biting his lip.

"You mean you and Weasley came down here with brooms?"

"No, erm… we flew using… a bird."

Malfoy's face became briefly incredulous before going back to the guarded-flatness. "A bird."

"Dumbledore's bird, though. He's a phoenix, so they can carry loads…" he trailed off seeing Malfoy blinking at him. "Well, see, I showed loyalty, or something, to Dumbledore, so his bird, Fawkes, appeared, and had the Sorting Hat, which was what gave me the sword of Gryffindor, and Fawkes was the one to peck out the basilisk's eyes so I could fight it, and…"

Malfoy's slowly closed his eyes, letting out a long put-upon sigh, and he hid his face. It wasn't something Harry expected Malfoy to do, and he wondered if the guarded, suspicious freak that was Malfoy was actually _hiding_ his face so as not to let Harry know what he was feeling. 

His voice was muffled and tight as he spoke through his hands, "You… you…" he seemed to give up, turning fully to put his back to Harry. "You… you found Salazar Slytherin's legendary Chamber of Secrets… in a girls toilet, where you fought Salazar Slytherin's monster… with the Sorting Hat that somehow gave you a sword… and you left the beast dead, by having a bird fly you out…"

Harry pressed his lips together to keep in an incredulous laugh. If he didn't know any better, Malfoy was also trying not to laugh. Harry's own voice was a little shaky with how tight he was trying to make it. "Well… when you put it like that…"

Malfoy let out an undignified snort and his head dropped down, shoulders shaking.

Harry let out his own small laugh. "Merlin… no wonder everyone thought I was lying."

"You think?" Malfoy hissed, shoulders shaking harder.

Harry scrubbed at his lips and jaw, trying to stop grinning and push down the humour of the thing. It wasn't funny—it _wasn't_. Harry was terrified the whole time. He sometimes still had nightmares, sometimes still slowed down when in that corridor just to make sure no more writing was on the wall. He sometimes thought he could still hear Riddle's voice, see him in the corner of his eye calling the basilisk forward.

Malfoy appeared to be thinking something similar because he cleared his throat loudly and said tightly. "I suppose I shouldn't... It's not…"

"No," Harry agreed, chuckling. "But…"

Malfoy's head dropped again, shoulder shaking once more. Harry bit down a smile as he watched Malfoy re-compose himself. "Right." He cleared his throat, smoothing down the front of his robes."Right, well," he turned back to Harry, and Harry's heart beat a little faster seeing the ghost of a genuine smile on Malfoy's face, humour twinkling at the edges of his eyes. "Well, we obviously aren't going to do that."

Harry shrugged. "We probably could call Fawkes back down here some way."

Malfoy gave him a sharp look. "That's a bad idea on so many levels, Potter, the least of which is by doing so we would be alerting _Dumbledore_ to what we're doing."

Harry conceded that with a tilt of his head. Dumbledore never asked to see the Chamber or to do anything with it, but that didn't mean he would agree with students making several trips down into it in the middle of the night. "What do we do then?"

Malfoy smirked again. "This is the _Slytherin_ Chamber, Potter, use your head. Do you honestly think Salazar would have made this without an exit?"

"I suppose…" Harry squinted around. "Big, big Chamber."

"It'll probably be subtle," Malfoy began, looking around. "Let's look for subtle snakes, shall we?"

It took them two hours.

Honestly, if it was left to just Harry, Harry probably would have been down there for days, if not more, but Malfoy not only apparently had a knack for puzzles, he also seemed to be enjoying himself in the mystery. Whereas Harry dragged his feet and seriously considered just napping at a couple of points, Malfoy flittered all around the Chamber, demanding Harry to do any manual labour and having him hiss in Parseltongue at whatever he thought might do something.

At one point, they did get into an argument because Harry was mostly convinced that Malfoy wasn't even trying anymore and was just bossing Harry around and making him speak Parseltongue for the hell of it. At another point, they got into an argument because Harry had dozed off while Malfoy was examining individual pillars for any differences among them, which Harry thought was pointless.

Eventually, they found a cornerstone way in the back of the Chamber hidden in condensed shadows with what looked to used to be a carving of a snake. Harry wasn't too sure about it, but he demanded it open all the same. Sure enough, it opened to a very narrow, _very long_ , tight spiral staircase.

Harry quickly decided after the first minute of climbing that from then on, Harry would go first because it was a struggle not to focus on what part of Malfoy was directly in front of his face.

It emptied out on the ground floor near the entrance hall, which surprised Harry. Malfoy, however, looked like he expected nothing less.

"Well, erm… goodnight?" Harry tried.

Malfoy was already hurrying to the dungeon. He sent Harry a sharp wave over his shoulder without looking back.

Harry sighed. 

He very quickly made his way to the second floor where he left his Cloak and map then back to Gryffindor tower. He was exhausted but still took a shower, longer than he needed but he chose not to think on why, and went to bed feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks.


	3. "Dragons we can deal with, Harry"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there is some text straight from the book, chapter nineteen. The reason for this is because of Harry's conversation with Sirius, so the lifted text is mostly from that dialogue. The reason for /that/ is to remind readers (and also myself so I don't have to go digging through the book all the time) about where we are with canon plot and things.
> 
> Also, please note that the Vanishing Charm is actually technically a Transfiguration spell. I didn't know that when writing this, I thought it was Charms, because you know, Vanishing "Charm". But according to the HP wiki, it's Transfig. Please suspend some disbelief for me there; in this little fic, it's Charms.
> 
> Finally, this chapter was originally longer, but in an effort to keep my hopes for a Monday chapter, and because I didn't want to weigh it down with every single interaction between our boys, it's been edited. If something seems off, please know why and point it out if you want. I'd love to correct it.

As successful as Harry had hoped that odd night was with Malfoy, the next day, Malfoy acted like nothing ever happened. Harry didn't know what he expected, but he had expected _something_ to be different. Quickly, he began to wonder if he had just dreamed their time in the Chamber. If that was the case, he knew he was a lost cause. Because he would have labelled that a pleasant dream, and yet it featured him being sneered at and insulted.

Still, and even though Harry could admit he was probably imagining it, it felt like Malfoy's jibes stung less. He still carried on as always, but his eyes would shine as if Harry was somehow in on the joke himself. Harry could also feel him watching Harry, both in the Great Hall and the library.

Hermione, of course, was a fixture in the library, and as Ron wasn't speaking to Harry, making Hermione Harry's best friend and what felt like his _only_ friend, Harry was in there all the time now too. He didn't know how often Malfoy was usually in the library, but he was all too aware of him now, and he was there just as much. He didn't seem to actually check many books out, just seemed to borrow a few, make a ton of notes and then return them. He caught Harry watching him every now and then, but that was okay because Harry caught him watching almost just as much.

"He's not even good-looking!" Hermione muttered angrily one day, making Harry jump so hard, his knee banged the table.

"What?!" he squeaked, then cleared his throat, lowering his voice as pure panic spread throughout him. "What? What—no—no, I didn't—I don't—I don't think of—I'm not, I'm not like—I—"

Hermione was frowning at him. "What?"

"... What?" he repeated.

" _Him_ ," Hermione hissed, jerking her head to the shelves. It was Krum, and Harry released a sigh as subtly as he could. Krum had also been spending a lot of time in the library, but unlike the rest of them, Krum came with a bunch of giggly girls who would watch him. "They only like him because he's famous! They wouldn't look twice at him if he couldn't do that Wonky-Faint thing—"

"Wronski Feint," Harry corrected, resigned to another Krum-rant.

He looked back around to Malfoy, who was leaning back in his chair, reading a large tome and brushing the feather of his quill across his lips in thought. Harry swallowed, hunching back over his own book.

_______

The Saturday before the first task was a Hogsmeade weekend. Hermione convinced him to go, but it honestly didn't take much. She tried to arrange it so they would meet up with Ron at the Three Broomsticks, but he likewise was able to easily convince her that if they went, they wouldn't meet Ron and he got to wear his Invisibility Cloak.

He put on the Cloak in the dorms, and they began the trek to the grounds. They were on the first floor close to the marble staircase when a soft, "Granger!" was called out, and Malfoy took a spot beside her.

She froze and narrowed her eyes. Harry looked around and was surprised but hopeful when he saw Malfoy was quite alone.

"What do you want?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms.

Malfoy, one hand in his pocket and looking as casual as ever, merely looked down at the nails of his other hand. "Haven't seen Potter around, hm?"

"What business is it of yours?" Hermione snarled.

"Oh, nothing." Malfoy shrugged. "Just… working a project." He smirked at her. "Thought he'd like to know the progress."

Hermione was immediately, and reasonably, defensive. "Oh, more _Potter Stink_ badges, Malfoy? What do they say this time, _Potter Needs a Hanky?_ "

Harry, though, was pretty sure what Malfoy actually meant. Malfoy smirked back, telling Hermione that her words did have a nice ring to them, but Harry was tugging at Hermione's sleeve, trying to gently tug toward an empty classroom. Hermione fell silent, glaring at Malfoy but obviously trying to think quickly what Harry meant. He tugged again and used his foot to quietly kick open the door a little. Hermione frowned at the door, glared back at Malfoy, and gestured to the room.

"He's in there."

Malfoy blinked, obviously surprised, but Harry slipped in, tearing off his Cloak and hiding it in a corner, and stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

Malfoy slowly poked his head in, suspicious, and his eyebrows flew up when he saw Harry. "... How?"

He was shoved from behind, and Hermione stepped in, too, crossing her own arms again.

"It's alright, Hermione," Harry said, but he kept a hard scowl on Malfoy. "We'll just be a minute."

Hermione did not look happy about this at all, but she roamed calculating eyes over both of them and slowly left the room. Harry knew she would be right outside, probably with her wand ready, so he stepped closer and spoke quietly.

"Well?"

"How do you do that?" Malfoy asked, gesturing to Harry up and down.

"Do what?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and Harry fought hard to keep his expression. He knew what Malfoy was talking about, of course, but he always did enjoy having one up on Malfoy. 

"What do you want?"

Malfoy sighed. "Tonight, same time and place."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What for?"

"For what we agreed on, you pillock. I'm ready to get started."

Harry bit his lip and looked out the window. 

He really shouldn't, not so close to the task. Malfoy was indeed correct that he would need at least a few days to prepare, and he couldn't say he had been preparing all that well. Not to mention, tonight was the night he was supposed to meet Sirius somehow. 

On the other hand, everything was just as miserable as it had been lately, and the idea of secretly meeting up with Malfoy sent flutters in his stomach. He was extremely curious if more meetings _would_ change something between them. The whole thing and the prospects that could come from it were annoyingly attractive. Plus, with one o'clock deadline, it guaranteed he couldn't be out long.

He sighed and, against his better judgment, agreed.

"Excellent," Malfoy smirked. "I'm picking up the last book I need today. Happy Hogsmeade, Potter."

Looking very much like the cat who got the canary, he left. Harry heard a soft, "Granger," in passing and after a few second, Hermione was rushing in.

"What was that all about?" she demanded.

"Nothing," Harry said, shaking his head and grabbing his Cloak. "Come on, let's get to Hogsmeade."

Hermione didn't accept 'nothing' as an answer, though, and pestered Harry through the castle grounds. As she did, he chewed his lip and thought. Harry doubted Hermione would support anything to do with Malfoy, but he wondered what her thoughts would be on _why_ he was feeling this way. And he always did feel a little bit safer, a bit braver underneath his father's Cloak, after all.

"Do you…" he opened, interrupting her. He hadn't been listening anyway. "Do you… ever, think about stuff?"

"What kind of stuff?" she responded brusquely.

"I don't know, relationship stuff?"

Hermione frowned, trying to look over at him even though she couldn't see him. She always did hate that about the Cloak. "Is this about Cho?"

"Who? Oh, no. I just meant… when it comes to relationships, and y'know, everything _involving_ relationships, do you ever think… I don't know. I mean, it isn't normal, right? To think about… Or it's wrong, to _not_ think about certain people..." he trailed off, not knowing how to finish that without giving himself away and feeling panicked he already did. "Never mind."

She looked thoughtful and considerate a moment. He watched her swallow, blinking rapidly with her own thoughts. " I think," she started carefully, "that it's normal to think about…" she paused, her cheeks going pink, "to think about _whatever_ it is people think about, when it comes to what _involves_ a relationship..."

"Just forget it, Hermione."

"No, it's—it's normal. Whatever it is…" she then looked stern though her eyes were wide, "as long as it's healthy, Harry! You know, it's very easy to let emotions get the better of you. You don't want to get stuck in—in something where you're constantly being undermined and insulted and—"

"Forget it, Hermione!"

"All I'm saying is—"

"But I wasn't saying!" Harry yelped, feeling embarrassed and totally defensive. He knew she was the cleverest witch their age, but there was no way she could have already… unless he had done or said something in the past… but he was always so careful... "I wasn't! I didn't mean—I'm not—I'm not like that! I'm _not_! I'm normal! Just, forget it! Never mind, I didn't mean anything!"

Hermione bit her lip, eyes searching for him but then focusing on the ground. "O-okay, okay. I'm sorry. I was just saying, that's all. I didn't mean—"

" _Please_."

"Okay."

"Okay." Pushing down a memory of Malfoy's _'okay'_ , Harry took a big breath. "Three Broomsticks first, then?"

_______

Harry tried to leave as early as he could, but he was pushing it. It took a while to get down into the Chamber and Merlin knew how long it took to get back up, then he had to meet Hagrid at midnight and Sirius at one. It was too tight, and something was probably going to have to give, especially if he couldn't somehow get Hagrid to finish whatever he wanted early so he could be sure not to miss Sirius. 

He stopped around the corner from the corridor where he knew Malfoy was already waiting, stowed away his Cloak and map in his large robe pockets, and took deep breaths to calm himself.

He had the sinking feeling that everything was coming to a head. That morning he could delude himself that he still had time, but now the pressure was making it hard for his lungs. He was worried what Sirius was going to say, let alone what he thought about everything, and he was worried exactly what Hagrid would deem so important. And he was still terrified of the first task, he seemed to have a mental block in all his subjects, Ron was still being a right git…

And now, Malfoy. Harry really didn't like the way Hermione narrowed her eyes at him each time they glimpsed him at Hogsmeade. He was an idiot saying anything. None of it _meant_ anything.

Another breath and Harry turned the corner. Malfoy was there, leaning against the wall but only a few paces from shadows that could easily hide him. Harry wondered why he was out in the open.

Malfoy heard him coming and straightened, picking up a bag.

Harry checked his watch. This was going to be too tight. "Sorry, Malfoy, bad news."

Malfoy, who was looking pretty normal for a boredly-waiting-yet-somehow-smug Malfoy, scowled. 

"I'm really sorry," Harry began, breathing already picking up again. "I am. I have to reschedule."

"Why?" Malfoy questioned, looking Harry up and down. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm in a hurry," Harry answered honestly. "Listen, I, I agreed to meet with someone at midnight, and I already had plans at one, and—" Malfoy's eyebrows shot up, and Harry realised what that might could have sounded like. "Wait! Wait, no, not—not like _that_ , not like, well, not like _we're_ meeting like that—" Malfoy's eyebrows shot up even further. "No! I meant!" He sighed, frustrated with himself and rubbed his face. "I meant… I… Something's come up, and I can't meet tonight."

Malfoy's lips quirked. Harry tried not to focus on them. "Wow, Potter. You are the most ungraceful person I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Shut up, you little shite. Listen, we have enough time to drop off your stuff so you aren't stuck with it, but then I have to go."

Malfoy shrugged, suddenly like he didn't care. "Fine. Don't know what else I was expecting. I suppose you want to try again next weekend?"

"Tomorrow night," Harry answered without thinking first. He internally winced. If he didn't have enough time tonight, he doubted he actually would tomorrow.

Malfoy obviously thought the same. "Tomorrow? Don't you think that's cutting it too close?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. But… I'd like to try."

Malfoy considered him. "I'll be very miffed if you cancel."

"Noted." Harry looked at his watch again. "Come on then."

Malfoy didn't say a word as they made the trek into the Chamber of Secrets. He stopped Harry before he opened the second entrance to perform that invisible bubble charm again, and Malfoy took his sweet time unloading his bag, organising the things, and picking out a few books he wanted to take with him. Harry knew he was probably doing it on purpose, and it wasn't until Harry snapped that he _had_ to go that Malfoy relented. True to his promise the time before, Harry made sure he was in front on their up the narrow spiral staircase.

When they got to the entrance hall, Harry checked the coast was clear before letting them out.

"Joy as always, Potter," Malfoy sneered, walking away.

"I am sorry," Harry mumbled, throwing the Cloak over himself quickly. He barely covered himself before Malfoy was pausing, turning around with his mouth open and obviously about to say something. Harry froze, but so did Malfoy, looking around.

"Potter?" he hissed.

Harry smirked under the Cloak.

"How the bloody…" Malfoy mumbled, looking utterly unhappy and turning away again.

Harry waited for him to disappear then hurried down to Hagrid's hut.

Later, as he stood invisible in the forest staring at four dragons, Harry wondered if he killed kittens or something in his past life to have deserved this. The dragons stood tall, strong, and seemingly invincible, breathing actual fire with roars that, if there were words attached to them, probably would burn just as much. He hated how his brain—almost poetically—compared them to the boy he left to see them, how similar they and the boy with their namesake were. And how dangerous they both were to him, yet both seemingly inescapable.

Back at Gryffindor tower, Harry pulled off the Cloak and stood frozen in the middle of the common room. The non-dragon fire in the fireplace was the only source of light, other than the _Support Cedric Diggory_ badges that glowed slightly on some tables. The Creeveys had been trying to change them but have only been able to make them say _POTTER REALLY STINKS_. Harry figured Malfoy had been prepared for the interference of them and did some kind of complicated charm to prevent it. It made him wonder why Malfoy decided on _POTTER STINKS_ in the first place. It was pretty mild in comparison to how nasty he knew Malfoy could be.

He picked up one of the buttons, sighing. He had gotten used to seeing them around the school, and so wasn't as bothered by them like he originally was. He hated that he wished they simply just said _Support Cedric Diggory_ because he would have rather liked to have one. 

He tossed it back onto the table and turned toward the fire, thinking about collapsing into one of the armchairs—only to jump sky-high to find Sirius' head in the fire.

"Sirius!" he cried, rushing to him. He had seen Mr Diggory do this over the summer, so he was able to quickly deduce it was a fire-call. He grinned as he dropped in front of his godfather who was looking tremendously better than the last Harry saw him. "How are you?"

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius returned seriously. "That was a mighty deep sigh I just heard."

"I…" he thought for a moment about just saying fine, but he felt so far from fine, he wasn't even sure how to pretend to be.

So, he told the truth and just began to talk. He told Sirius about the _Prophet_ and Skeeter, and Ron and the rest of the school, about feeling trapped and alone, about how much he wanted to just be normal—but on that, he only elaborated enough to say that he was confused about some things and some people…

"... and now Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons, Sirius, and I'm a goner."

Sirius, who, despite looking better, still had eyes that reflected the hauntings of Azkaban, was looking at him with understanding and concern. He had let Harry talk himself out, but now he said, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute—I haven't got long here… I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Oh, great," Harry sighed, feeling immediately dejected that there was apparently more he was going to have to deal with. "What about?"

"Karkaroff. Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"I… Yes, but he—what?"

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet everything that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year—to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

"But he was released?" Harry asked slowly. "Why?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius bit out. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then he named names…. He put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place… He's not very popular in there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through the school of his. So watch out for the Drumstrang champion as well."

"Sure, but… are you thinking he was the one who put my name in? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it, and he wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the _Prophet_ , Harry—"

"I didn't say those things," Harry said, immediately defensive. 

"I know, Harry, but I've been reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month about Moody. Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm—"

"It's Skeeter. I already don't trust it."

Sirius gave him a small smile. "I don't think it was a false alarm. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often, but that doesn't mean he can't still spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"Are you saying that Karkaroff is trying to kill me? Why?"

Sirius hesitated. "I've been hearing some very strange things… The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone set off the Dark Mark… and then—did you hear about the Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?"

"Exactly… she disappeared in Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last… and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but do you think she would have just walked into Voldemort?"

"Listen, I knew Bertha. She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot, frankly. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry. I'd say she'd be very easy to lure into a trap."

Harry nodded, thinking. "So… it is possible that she could have told Voldemort about the tournament, and now a Death Eater is here at Hogwarts. Do you think he's here on Voldemort's orders?"

"I don't know," Sirius answered softly. "I just don't know… Karkaroff doesn't strike me as the type who'd go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that Goblet did it for a reason, and I can't help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I'm sitting." Harry grinned bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"Right—these dragons," Sirius said quickly. "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a Stunning Spell—dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon—"

"Yeah, I know, I just saw."

"But you can do it alone. There is a way, and a simple spell's all you need. Just—"

Harry stopped him by raising a hand, his heart picking up as he heard footsteps coming down the spiral staircase behind him.

"Go!" he hissed quietly. " _Go!_ There's someone coming!"

And if Harry wasn't furious with Ron before, he could have killed him then.

_______

The next day, Harry and Hermione ate breakfast while walking around the lake, and Harry filled her in with everything Sirius told him. Hermione was as concerned as he was about Karkaroff, but she agreed with him that their main focus should be the dragons Tuesday.

They spent that Sunday in the library researching everything they could. They piled their table with every book they could about dragons and any subject that might sound useful against them. They skipped lunch, and Harry was set to skip dinner too—he really did not have an appetite. Hermione didn't argue but ducked out to grab a quick supper herself, most likely going to grab a sandwich or something for Harry later.

Harry refocused on the books in front of him, re-reading a paragraph on dragon talons that once might have been boring to him but was now bloody terrifying. He was so busy imagining just how painful being gutted by one could be that he almost didn't notice when a shadow fell over him.

It was Malfoy. He was looking around, checking that they were alone before looking at Harry. He raised an eyebrow at all the books and glared at him. 

"I told you I'd be cross if you cancelled."

Harry sighed. He didn't have the energy right then to bicker with Malfoy. All the information he learned since seeing the boy last flickered through his mind, and he searched Malfoy's face a moment. Malfoy's father used to be a Death Eater too… He could know something. In fact, if what Harry thought (and desperately hoped) was true that Malfoy didn't know about his father's involvement with the Chamber of Secrets, then it could be possible that Malfoy wouldn't know just how valuable whatever information he had was and wouldn't think twice about sharing it.

He privately applauded himself at this excellent reasoning why he was keeping his… meetup. _Plans._ Keeping his plans.

"I'm not cancelling," he told him, going back to the book. "Same time, same place."

"Fine. Good." Malfoy grabbed one of the books, pulling it to him. Harry shot a hand out and snatched it back. "You have always been a terrible procrastinator, you know, Potter."

"At least I do my own work… mostly."

"I do my own work," Malfoy argued. 

Harry raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him.

"I do!" Malfoy frowned. "In fact, I do more than my own share, I'll have you know."

"Oh, really?"

Malfoy crossed his arms, seeming honestly insulted. "How else do you think Vi—Crabbe and Goyle have passed all these years."

Harry opened his mouth but paused. "Actually… that's a good point."

Malfoy huffed. "You're an idiot, Potter. Have you really thought I've been cheating all these years?"

"Well, you cheat at everything else!"

"I take advantage of opportunities."

"You cheat."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "God save us all from the nobility of basilisk slayers..." he mumbled, walking away. 

"More like God save us from cheaters!" Harry whispered-called after him. He watched Malfoy leave the library and frowned back down to his books. "'Save us from cheaters'? That's the best I had?"

He groaned, feeling his cheeks heat, and let his head fall to the table.

________

That night, Harry didn't even have to pretend to be exhausted to excuse himself early. Fred and George were already providing a good distraction for him to slip out of the tower unnoticed. He made sure to wear robes again to be able to stash the Cloak and map in the pockets, making a mental note to buy a couple extra if doing this with Malfoy was going to become a regular thing.

This time, Malfoy was waiting in the shadows, but Harry knew where he was thanks to the map. 

"Malfoy," he nodded to the spot he knew Malfoy was secreted and pushed his way into the loo. Malfoy followed right as Harry was opening the sink.

"How did you know I was there?"

Harry grinned to himself, jumping instead of answering. His landing still wasn't very smooth, and he was annoyed the Malfoy's landing was looking to already become practised. 

"How did you know?" Malfoy repeated.

"Obvious hiding spot," Harry lied. It was actually a really decent one.

Malfoy scoffed but didn't reply. As they made their way to the Chamber, Malfoy detailed the research he had been doing, very obviously pleased with himself.

Harry didn't listen, however. He had been thinking about it since he first got the idea in the library, and he still wasn't sure how to approach this. He was not deluded enough to think locking himself and Malfoy in a room literally no one else in the castle could get into and begin interrogating him about his father was in any way, shape, or form even slightly a good idea. He also didn't think he was coy enough to hide any interrogation in regular conversation. He could admit to himself that he didn't exactly have a knack for subtlety.

However, the more he thought about it, the more he really did believe that Malfoy wouldn't know of any outright plan against Harry. If he did, he would have known Harry didn't put his name in, and Harry would never have brought him down into the Chamber to prove himself.

Of course, a paranoid part of his brain supplied, he could have just used Harry to get entrance into the Chamber, but Harry was the one who had offered. Like most things with Malfoy, getting him just to come down there was like pulling teeth.

So, if Malfoy did know anything, he wouldn't know its significance. Harry was fairly confident about that. But getting Malfoy to tell him anything he might know?

Also, a large part of him wanted to wait. See where this went before mucking it up with questions and suspicions.

Malfoy performed the invisible-bubble charm before Harry opened the second entrance, and he was a little amused by how Malfoy resembled a kid in a candy shop as he bounced over to his things. The first thing he did was release and open a large chest that tripled in size once opened. Harry had to keep his mouth from dropping open when the chest unfolded on itself to create a large work section, complete with shelves, a small prep table, and even an icebox underneath.

" _Why_ do you even have something like that?" he questioned.

"Oh, it belongs to Se-... my godfather, actually. He really only uses it during the summer or when he's travelling, so I reckon we have weeks before he notices it's gone." He unloaded several books and began meticulously placing them on the shelves, going over to pull out supplies and other things where he arranged them next to certain books.

Harry idly wondered if this was what he was starting to do the night before, but Harry only thought he was dragging his feet.

"I didn't know you had a godfather," Harry said thoughtfully, watching as Malfoy messed with some jars and something that looked like an ancient scythe. 

"Everyone born in proper families has godparents, Potter," Malfoy sniffed. He shifted a little on his feet though.

"I have a godfather." Harry crossed his arms.

" _You_ have a psychopath."

"He's not a psychopath!"

Malfoy shot him a look Harry couldn't quite make out in their low _Lumos_ to see. His voice when he spoke just sounded, well, snooty like always, but also confused. "He betrayed your parents, Potter."

"He—" Harry stopped himself. Did that mean Malfoy didn't know about Pettigrew? Would it mean anything to tell him? Did his father know about Pettigrew? Malfoy would most definitely tell him if he didn't. And if Lucius _wasn't_ in on whatever Death Eater plans were brewing, he could easily put it together that Pettigrew was now with Voldemort and flock over to him to help.

"He…?" Malfoy led.

"It's a long story," Harry said simply.

"We do have quite some time," Malfoy drawled, going back to his organising.

Harry didn't know what was safe to say or not, so he decided to risk being right about what the shifting of Malfoy's feet earlier meant. "You tell me about yours, I'll tell you about mine."

Malfoy tensed for a brief moment. "There's nothing to tell," he said, inflecting a bored voice. "He gives me presents on appropriate occasions and attends my family's galas." He shrugged. "He's lucky to have me."

Harry snorted, but it really did sound more or less like Malfoy was implying Malfoy was lucky to have his godfather. "Well, mine figured out how to break out of Azkaban."

Malfoy hummed. "True. Psychopath or not, clearly, both of ours are geniuses." 

He looked back over his shoulder, clearly expecting that to be a jab against Harry, but Harry shrugged in agreement.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and turned back around. He was flipping through another book now, and Harry scooted a little closer to see it was their Charms textbook.

"Homework?" he asked, knowing he sounded unimpressed.

Malfoy sighed loudly. "Already you're breaking your agreement to pay attention."

"What?"

"The Vanishing Charm, Potter. We have to get rid of the rot before we can do anything else."

"Oh, right. We haven't covered that yet though."

"No," Malfoy agreed, and Harry could just make out his smirk. "But—as I do all my own work, thank you very much—I'm actually quite ahead in that class. I've been practising the Vanishing Charm all week."

"Right," Harry said. He wondered how long he was going to hear about Malfoy doing his own work. He was regretting saying anything now.

"I _also_ did ten extra inches on my essay of the Summoning Charm detailing the properties that run parallel from the Vanishing Charm in order to ascertain the similarities and differences in both the theory and practical use that not only—"

Harry mouthed, " _Oh my god,_ " behind his back.

"—was up to par of my usual dedicated work but allowed me the opportunity for a more empirical application in my practice. Not to mention a ready excuse for when I was caught."

"Are you actually telling me you 'did your own work' so much so that you could cheat?"

Malfoy slammed the Charms book shut, turning sharply toward the basilisk, jabbed his wand toward it and barked, " _Evanesco!_ "

A large portion of the obviously rotten flesh across the basilisk's belly vanished. Harry blinked, begrudgingly impressed. They had been working on the Summoning Charm all week, and Harry still couldn't even get the wand movements right. Harry was honestly just poking at a clear sour spot for the boy, but perhaps it was a bigger button than he realised.

"If that's cheating, then _fine._ But _you_ , oh so noble hero, need I remind you, are the reason why I learned it, to begin with, so you could bring this cheat down here, after curfew, to illegally harvest parts of a rare, highly regulated creature. Don't know where you get off—"

"Okay, okay," Harry raised his hands. "Alright, Malfoy. I wasn't serious. That's… good work."

Malfoy huffed air out of his nose like a bull, the sound slightly muffled from the invisible bubble. He was clearly not appeased.

"Great work, alright?" Harry tried. "I'm still stuck on the Summoning Charm."

"Of course you are," Malfoy sneered. "You're a hopeless, pathetic, absolute moron, and I will be genuinely surprised if you survive Tuesday."

That was more of a blow than Harry cared to admit. He crossed his arms again, looking away. His fear for the first task had disappeared since the beginning of this conversation—or was it a fight now—but it was coming back with full force. If only Ron had waited at least a few more minutes before nosing down in the common room, he could be practising whatever spell Sirius was going to tell him.

The silence between them seemed to stretch so much, it almost felt like that invisible bubble around his head was expanding again. Sounds echoed in the Chamber as Malfoy shifted on his feet once more.

"But clearly that won't happen," Malfoy said, sounding very annoyed. "Because I promised eternal damnation to you if you die before I can finish my work here."

Harry clenched his jaw.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "It will take the rest of our time here tonight, maybe another night, for me to Vanish the decomposition." He sounded oddly formal, and even though Harry still wasn't looking, he could tell by the sounds that he had gone back to his little chest-work-station. "Basilisks decompose slower than I remembered, but it's tricky. Some parts decompose at regular speeds, and those are mostly internal. It's lower intestines, for example, will be absolutely worthless now. Whereas, its tail, that has been in the water this whole time, I'm assuming—please correct me if I'm wrong—would have been in the third phase of decomposition if it wasn't for the water.

"The problem there is one, we don't know how the rot of lower intestines have affected the organs around it, and two, we don't know what else is in the water to have affected the tail. After all, we are for all intense and purposes, in a _sewer_. I would like to imagine Salazar Slytherin had planned for that and done the appropriate spellwork, but there's also the matter that you said the creature travelled via the pipes, so there's no telling how much of what residue was on the creature and had affected the water inside here—"

"Malfoy, this is gross," Harry blurted, effectively distracted again and wrinkling his nose.

"Did you think it wouldn't be?" Malfoy mocked.

"I _really_ don't want to think of what kind of… residue was on the thing. Especially since I fell in that water."

Malfoy was silent a moment as he shelved the last of his books. "You did?"

Harry snorted. "I doubt you want to know the state I was in when we left. I have a feeling it would horrify you." He looked Malfoy up and down again. He honestly wouldn't have thought Malfoy would have had so many outfits appropriate for a place like this.

"Including a bloody arm…" Malfoy said quietly but tightly. "You do realise, Potter, that if her fang went through your arm, you would be dead."

"I almost was," Harry shrugged. He shoved his hands in his pockets, thumbing one of the dragon books he brought with him. "Would be, if it wasn't for Fawkes."

"Fawkes…" Suddenly, Malfoy was spending around, his eyes alight with apparent realisation. "The _phoenix_. It cried for you."

Harry nodded, frowning.

"Oh, that makes sense… I didn't think…" He deflated a little. 

"Oi, did you think I was lying again?!"

"I… n-not exactly…"

"You did!"

"I didn't think about it until later!" Malfoy yelled. "I would have asked, but you were rather passionate at the time!"

"Oh, well, I'm sorry I didn't tell you every single little detail of that horrific night!"

"Of course not, because Perfect Potter still has his secrets!"

"Like I'm going to tell _you_ everything, you git!"

"Why tell me anything!? What's your plan here, Potter!?"

"My…?" Harry threw out his hands, the dragon book he had begun to clutch flying out of his pocket. "I don't have one! For anything! Damn you, Malfoy, you can't accuse me of being a hopeless moron only to turn around and accuse me of some kind of scheme here!"

Malfoy was glaring at him, but the book had skidded slowly across the damp stone floor to Malfoy's feet. Harry noticed with Malfoy's quick glance down as it hit his shoes. He lunged for it, but Malfoy was quicker and snatched it up.

"Give. That. Back."

" _Dumbfounding Dragons: A History of Regulations and Control…_ " Malfoy read the cover. He looked back up at Harry, face hidden in shadow with his head still down. "Earlier you were reading about the anatomy of dragons and had a book on Chinese dragon culture."

"I won't tell you again."

"It's the first task, isn't it? Dragons."

Harry yanked out his wand, but Malfoy didn't even look at it and handed the book swiftly over.

"One wizard by himself can't defeat a dragon."

"I'm warning you—"

"Not directly," Malfoy interrupted. He had lifted his head more, but he had let his hair fall around his eyes, keeping his face mostly dark. Harry couldn't figure out his tone. "Only a strong deflection or dissuasion would work. There are only, at most, three vulnerable parts to a dragon that kills it."

Harry blinked, his temper cooling. Was… was Malfoy giving _advice_? 

"You won't have a phoenix this time, Potter. Or an heirloom sword."

"I…" his voice broke. He swallowed. "I don't have to kill it. Just get past it."

Malfoy gave a slow nod. "Their most vulnerable point is the eyes."

Harry gave a slow nod back. "Okay."

Malfoy turned his head to look at the basilisk then again at his chest-work-station. Meanwhile, Harry looked at him, ignoring the way the soft light seemed to pour down his long neck and instead, trying to figure out what just happened.

Malfoy then lifted his head fully, looking Harry balefully in the eye.

"Don't ever call _me_ a cheat again, Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long note, sorry!
> 
> So, I apologise to any anti-Dracos (if you are, Idk why you're reading this, but you are welcomed regardless!), but I personally have always enjoyed the headcanon of a very intelligent Draco Malfoy. In fact, I have my own headcanon that the reason why Draco wasn't a more direct competition to Hermione was that he spent so much time and effort helping his two best friends Crabbe and Goyle. Is that something canon-Malfoy would do? Probably not, I'll admit. But if Crabbe and Goyle are so hopelessly stupid, I never understood how they were able to pass each year and even get OWLs. I just like the idea of a good friend!draco, pulling his friends off to the corner of the common room to explain something for the millionth time and shoving them into classrooms to practise spells. Only to turn around and get dragged by his father for letting a muggleborn do better than him because he was clearly smart enough to match or beat her, thus fueling more hatred toward her. It's not something I know everyone likes or agrees with, hence this note; I felt a need to explain it. I am absolutely not implying it's at all true nor that anyone has to agree with it. I just like it, 'tis all. There's always some element of Draco helping his friends in school in most of my fics. (Especially since I can totally see him being like, "For the love of god, if it will get you to shut up, I'll write your damn essay myself," lol)
> 
> Anyway, long-winded here, but in this fic, I picture Draco being so upset with Harry's comment not because he isn't a cheat (we all know what he's like in Quidditch) but because academia is a particular sore spot for him. I'm going off canon that the only classes they have together is Potions, that flying class first year, and COMC third year and up. I don't think they were in more classes together, but if they were, please point them out! Otherwise, Harry doesn't really know how Malfoy is in class because his only real two experiences are Potions, where Snape is biased, and COMC, where Malfoy just mocks the whole time.  
> I think we can all see how plot began to form in this lol. Any thoughts on the matter are absolutely welcomed!
> 
> Lastly: I'm also still unsure with the scene with Hermione walking to Hogsmeade. I've kept changing it back and forth. Any insights, thoughts or opinions anyone wants to offer, please do! I'm happy to change it!


	4. "Yes, Professor"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Immediate and at hand" that you'll see in this chapter is something my mother always told me in times of great stress. It's become a mantra of mine lately. Right now, my mother is really sick and in a skilled facility, so if anyone wants to pass along encouraging words, please do. I will buy a card for each, writing your well-wishes inside, and send them to her. (I can't physically visit because of COVID… )
> 
> Please note, again there is lifted dialogue here. I didn't mean there to be but I needed it for a segue to my own dialogue.

Harry was sincerely concerned that he was either going to hurl or start cursing people on sight.

The moment he had seen Cedric Diggory Monday morning, he knew he had to tell the other champion about the dragons. He was overheard by Professor Moody, but the professor proved to be unpredictable yet again by giving Harry much needed advice. That night, instead of furiously trying to find what could work against a dragon's eyes (Harry lied that it was Sirius' suggestion), he and Hermione practised Summoning Charms.

He threw himself into it so much that his nerves were almost gone, but by Tuesday morning, they had returned mercilessly.

Afternoon lessons were cancelled so everyone could witness the first task, and Harry's last few dragon-less hours seem to blink away. Somehow his first lesson, History of Magic, suddenly blurred into lunch, and before he knew it, Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the table in the Great Hall to collect him.

"Potter, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now… You have to get ready for your first task."

Harry gulped. "Okay," he said, standing and letting his fork slip out of his hand. It landed on his plate of uneaten food with a loud _thump_.

"Good luck, Harry!" Hermione whispered. "You'll be fine!"

"Yeah," Harry automatically said, voice sounding far-away even to his own ears.

As he turned to follow Professor McGonagall out, he caught sight of the Slytherin table. Karkaroff was leading Victor Krum out, the headmaster looking excited but Krum looking serious and solemn. Unable to help himself, Harry searched the rest of the table, seeking out blond hair. When he found him, Malfoy was already looking at him, expression bored. When they locked eyes, however, Malfoy's face briefly flickered through several emotions Harry couldn't name, then he gave Harry a slow, albeit small, nod.

Harry ducked his head and took a deep, deep breath. He had _two_ , at least _two_ people in the audience who—if not directly on his side—wanted him to live.

On the way across the grounds, he discovered he potentially had _three_.

Professor McGonagall looked as worried and anxious as Hermione. She put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Now, don't panic, just keep a cool head… We've got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand… The main thing is just to do your best, and nobody will think any the worse of you… Are you all right?"

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say. He opened his mouth to say he was fine, but like with Sirius a few days ago, he felt so far from fine, he didn't know how to imitate it.

When he failed to speak, Professor McGonagall stopped him, putting both hands on his shoulders. He could see, plain as day, the concern and care in her eyes being viciously stomped down as bravery and stoicism took their place. It caused warmth to spread through him and words to crawl unbidden from his throat. 

They spoke at the same time.

"Remember there'll be plenty of—"

"I think I like boys—"

They both stopped and blinked at each other. 

Harry could have killed himself on the spot. Comparatively, his abnormality was the least of his problems at the moment, but perhaps it had daunted his mind for so long, it apparently took precedence. It was like in the face of having _three_ people out there today on his side made him want to rebel, to push the boundaries and test if he really had the professor too.

He was so _stupid_.

"I—I—I mean, I—I meant—I didn't—"

Professor McGonagall squeezed his shoulders and gave him a rare smile, if only for a moment. "Individual preferences, I'm afraid, won't have any bearing on today. You must keep focused, Mr Potter. You have a much greater task on your hands."

He nodded quickly. "Yes, Professor."

She nodded back and began steering him toward what he knew to be the dragon enclosure.

It was on the edge of the forest, and a tent had been erected just in front of a large cluster of trees that Harry figured was hiding the dragons. The three schools' insignias were colourful and bold on the tent with its entrance flap right underneath. Professor McGonagall stopped him before they reached it, one hand still on his shoulder.

"You're to go in here with the other champions." Her voice was slightly shaky but sounded determined all the same. "Mr Bagman is in there… he'll be telling you the—the procedure… Good luck."

"Right. Thank you, Professor," he said. He straightened, wanting to walk in there with his head held high.

"And Mr Potter? I'm proud of you."

He completely deflated and looked back at Professor McGonagall. 

"Not even Gryffindors can be brave enough to face certain truths about themselves. Facing yourself is far more difficult than anything you will face today. I want you to know that self-discovery and identity is a _lifelong_ journey, Harry. I daresay you will have decades to explore them all. For now, please just focus on what is immediate and at hand."

Her words were stern as always but with a kindness he had never heard from anyone before. It was gentle but unyielding, understanding yet inspiring as if daring him to explore every and any identity; as if the momentous realisations Harry had been having lately were merely molehills in her eyes—in the best of ways. 

As if whatever Harry was or was not would not change her support.

Harry felt a lump in his throat form. He blinked several times to keep his vision clear. "Th-thank you, Professor. That—it means a lot."

Professor McGonagall finally let go of his shoulder only to pat it. "You aren't alone. Now, go, get in there."

Harry grinned widely at her, wishing he had words to express himself, before hurrying into the tent and swallowing repeatedly to dislodge the lump in his throat.

He had _three_ people. Not all in the same way, not all with the same motives, but he at least had _three._

Harry could do this. He just needed to focus on what was immediate and at hand.

___________

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

Harry was grinning madly. He _did_ it.

The dragon keepers were rushing over to reign in the Horntail, and Harry turned his broom toward the entrance where he saw Professor McGonagall, Professor Moody, and Hagrid running toward him and beckoning him over. He landed smoothly just in front of them.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Professor McGonagall cried, which Harry considered high praise hard-earned. Her hand was visibly shaking as she pointed toward his bleeding shoulder where her hand had been just an hour or so before. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score… Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already…"

"Yeh did it, Harry!" Hagrid boomed over her. Harry felt immediate gratitude and smothering guilt because he had had _four_ people all along. Harry had always had Hagrid, from the day he turned eleven, and even though he hated the idea of what Hagrid could think of him if he knew Harry was… Still, Hagrid, currently… "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors'—"

Harry cut him off by leaping into his arms. He still wasn't tall enough to reach Hagrid's neck when he did this, but Hagrid scooped him up nonetheless.

" _Thank you, thank you, thank you!_ " he said into Hagrid's messy beard. "I hadn't said it, but _thank you_. You mean so much to me."

Hagrid laughed and set him down.

Professor Moody looked happy and proud of Harry, too, despite his magical eye dancing every which way in its socket. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Indeed," Professor McGonagall agreed, physically turning Harry toward the medical tent. "Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, _please_ …"

Harry went, still smiling.

Madam Pomfrey was in fine form, seemingly bickering with nobody and everybody about her students facing dragons. Cedric didn't seem too badly injured, however, and Harry watched with mild fascination as Madam Pomfrey cleaned and healed his shoulder. She instructed him to sit, but he couldn't.

He had just snuck toward the tent's flap to peek outside when two figures rushed in: Hermione and Ron.

"Harry, you were brilliant! You were amazing! You really were!" Hermione called. Harry could see what looked like fingernail indentions on her cheeks. 

Harry grinned at her and pulled her into a tight hug. "Thank you, 'Mione. Thank you for _everything_." He had a wild urge to tell her what happened with Professor McGonagall before the task but ignored it and only held her tighter.

Hermione laughed though it sounded slightly tearful. "Oh, Harry! I'm so glad you're okay." She pushed away from him and grabbed his arm, inspecting his shoulder.

"Madam Pomfrey healed it. Suppose there's no hope for my robes though."

Hermione rolled her eyes, still grinning, and let him go.

Slowly, Harry looked over to Ron. He was deathly pale and staring at Harry with wide-eyes.

"Harry… whoever put your name in the Goblet—I—I reckon they're trying to do you in!"

Harry swallowed. He would give anything to have Ron back. Ron was his _best friend_. He missed Ron and was sick of being without him. But he was also scared.

"Caught on, have you?" he asked coldly. "Took you long enough."

Ron opened and closed his mouth. Harry knew an apology was coming, and he wondered briefly if he even needed it. Privately, he thought he didn't. If Ron was willing to pull his head out of his own arse, Harry would gladly welcome him. He would _always_ welcome Ron. But if push shoved, would Ron always welcome him?

"I was a right wanker," Ron said, some colour coming back in his cheeks. "I—I know you didn't put your name in, Harry. I just…" he looked to Hermione who was watching them both nervously, eyes wet. "I was jealous. I—I didn't understand… I _couldn't_ understand how this could be bad for you. But just now, watching those dragons… Harry, I'm so sorry."

Harry took a deep breath. _Immediate and at hand_. Ron was apologising, asking for forgiveness. Harry was only hesitating because he was worried about losing Ron again, losing him because of something else that wasn't in Harry's control, try as he might. 

That wasn't today though. 

He grinned and pulled Ron into a hug just as tight as Hermione's. "Don't do it again, wanker."

"I won't," Ron laughed, hugging him back. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you."

Ron released him, visibly relieved, and Hermione startled both of them by bursting into tears.

"'Mione!" Harry laughed, pulling her in and starting a three-way hug. "It's fine."

"Stupid boys," she huffed, clutching both of them.

"You're mad," Ron said, sounding awkward. 

"Yeah," Harry agreed, "we are."

Ron sniggered. "Come on. They'll be putting up your scores…"

Harry let go, feeling lighter and freer than he had in weeks. He grabbed his Firebolt and the golden egg and followed his friends out of the tent. 

_Five._ Five people. He felt like his heart could burst.

Ron was talking fast as he led the way to the enclosure, telling Harry about the other champions. Cedric had attempted to distract the dragon by Transfiguring a rock into a dog. Fleur tried to dissuade her dragon by attempting a trance. Krum shot some spell directly into his dragon's eyes, which would have worked best if the dragon didn't stumble in agony and smash half her eggs. Harry hadn't exactly thought Malfoy was lying or being deceptive in his advice, but having such clear confirmation of Malfoy's honesty—honesty to _help_ Harry—laid out in front of him made his cheeks burn and his chest constrict.

It may only be self-interest in the Chamber of Secrets on Malfoy's part, but Harry really did have _five_ people rooting for him in this tournament. He wasn't alone in this.

When they reached the enclosure, Hermione and Ron explained the scoring system over each other. Both of them cheered, grabbing onto Harry where they could, as the judges gave their numbers.

Harry didn't care about his score. Both of their indignations on his behalf on Karkaroff's low score was worth the entire tournament to him. And despite himself, he couldn't help noticing that it wasn't just his friends—it wasn't just his five people—nor was it just Gryffindors or even just _Hogwarts_ that was cheering for him. Hundreds of people gathered to watch him face a dragon and were cheering his victory.

Harry had to return to the champion's tent for details of the second task. He was beyond grateful that he had months to prepare. The end of February felt like a lifetime away.

Ron and Hermione had waited for him, and he ran toward them, bumping into Ron on his skidded stop.

"So?" Hermione asked.

"The next task is February twenty-fourth at nine in the morning. This," he lifted the golden egg, "opens and is supposed to give me a clue about the second task to help get ready for it."

Hermione's eyes focused on the egg with interest, but Ron clapped and rubbed his hands. "That's great news! It's months away!"

"It might take that long to figure out the clue," Hermione warned.

"A broomstick," interrupted a voice. Harry twirled around to see Malfoy, his gang of Slytherins not far behind. They were already cackling even though Malfoy was too far away for them to hear. 

"Malfoy," Ron snarled.

"A broomstick," Malfoy repeated, looking solely at Harry with his lips quirking. His pale face was guarded, but Harry didn't miss how stiff his shoulders were, as though forcing them still. "The Great Boy Who Lived went up against a dragon with a broomstick."

Malfoy's Slytherin friends—Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, and Zabini—had reached them now and were laughing at Malfoy's words. For all intense and purposes, Malfoy was mocking Harry. Degrading him and pissing on his win. 

But Malfoy's eyes softened some when Harry looked at him again. And Harry knew it wasn't malicious.

"Every other champion did what real champions _would_ do, but you… no, you had to think out of the box. Harry sodding Potter defeated a dragon with a sodding broomstick."

Harry couldn't stop his grin if he tried. "Probably wouldn't have worked with _your_ broom. Mine is still the best in the market, in case you forgot."

Some of the Slytherins hissed, but Harry only had eyes for Malfoy. He watched as an actual, genuine grin spread on Malfoy's face, and he himself just grinned wider as Malfoy visibly pulled back his own and forced his face into a scowl. "Breathe the fresh air while you're still alive, Potter. We'll see what comes in the second task."

"Looking forward to it, Malfoy."

Malfoy led his Slytherins away, but Harry stared after him. He wasn't disappointed. Malfoy gracefully stepped away from them, letting Parkinson lead, and turned around to walk backwards, watching Harry. Harry was beyond pleased by this and tried to send Malfoy the slow, small nod Malfoy had given him before the task. By this time, Malfoy was rapidly getting too far away for Harry to see if it was returned.

"—snotty git. I dare him to make another badge after today."

" _Ron_ , I don't think—"

"Huh?" Harry asked, turning back to his friends. Ron looked furious, and Hermione was darting eyes among Harry, Ron, and the Slytherins. Harry turned again to follow her gaze only to see Malfoy turning his own head again back to them. Harry fought a blush.

"Don't you agree, Harry?" Ron was asking.

"What?"

"Malfoy," Ron replied, waving his hand. "He's eating his own words right now! The stupid idiot didn't even have a good insult."

"I don't think he was trying to insult Harry," Hermione tried, sounding tired.

"Why wouldn't he?" Ron questioned.

Harry sighed. "Guys, can we just go back to the castle? I think I'd really like a snack and maybe a nap."

They went, and Harry wrote a long letter to Sirius detailing almost everything about the first task. Ron let him borrow Pigwidgeon; meanwhile, Harry updated Ron on everything Sirius warned him about Karkaroff. They then went back to Gryffindor tower where a celebration of Harry's victory was well underway. Lee tempted Harry into opening the golden egg which was empty but emitted a loud, shrieking sound that had everyone covering their ears.

Later that night as he climbed into bed, he pulled out the miniature Horntail to lay on his bedside table. It yawned hugely and curled up, closing its eyes.

 _Really_ , Harry thought as he burrowed into bed, _Hagrid has a point… they're alright, really, dragons…_

____________

The next morning, Harry woke full of panic until he remembered he didn't need to panic anymore.

He had done it. The first task was over. Not only did he do it, but he was also the best out of all the champions. Malfoy's words, _'Harry sodding Potter defeated a dragon with a sodding broomstick,'_ echoed in his mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, laughing quietly to himself.

He rolled over and peeked through his bed curtains to find the miniature Horntail still asleep on his bedside table. He looked up at the window and saw it was just barely dawn.

Harry had done more than just the first task, however, didn't he? He had told Professor McGonagall—

Horror, for a moment, slammed into him, his stomach rolling with the memory. But then he let himself remember all of it, including Professor McGonagall's words before he entered the champions' tent. She didn't say what she thought or felt about it one way or another, but she had said that self-discovery was a lifelong journey. She seemed to have no problems with him or how he might be, albeit she was obviously focused on the first task…

He swallowed, rolling over onto his stomach to bury his head underneath his pillow.

He actually told Professor McGonagall—of all people…

The humiliation alone was enough to make him wish the dragon had finished him off. Professor McGonagall didn't seem like the type of person to tolerate the likes of something like _him_ , not with his confession and quite literally living in a dorm with other boys. She was strict— fair, but strict—and oh god, what if she made him move? He doubted she would move him in with the girls, but what if he had to dorm by himself—everyone would figure out why, and—

Harry bolted from his bed and into the toilets where he could pace freely.

This was _Professor McGonagall._ She hadn't done anything about his confession yet, and she had plenty of time to. However, he couldn't curve the brand-new panic pinging around in him. He wasn't _supposed_ to be this way. 

Harry was darting back into his dorm and getting dressed before he could properly think about it. He snatched up the miniature Horntail, hoping against hope that its mere presence would give him some semblance of the courage he had the day before. What was _immediate and at hand_ was getting to Professor McGonagall, figuring out exactly what she remembered, knew, and what she planned to do.

The hour made that almost impossible. No one was around, and Harry had no idea where any of the professors' quarters were. In the end, he decided to wait in the staff room, purposely trying not to remember the time he and Ron were secreted there and overheard about Ginny being taken to the Chamber of Secrets. Instead, he focused on the miniature Horntail squirming unhappily in his pocket, thinking about what to do or say.

It was almost an hour before someone entered. Professor Flitwick pushed through the door with an apparent bounce in his step, but he froze upon seeing Harry.

"Mr Potter? Are you alright—is something wrong?"

"Er…" Harry fidgeted. "I need to see Professor McGonagall, sir."

Professor Flitwick, alert at finding a student waiting in the staff room before breakfast, nodded sharply. He told Harry to wait there and left.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, mentally rehearsing what he was going to say.

_"Professor, about yesterday… I wasn't in my right mind, you see. I was nervous about the first task, and I've been confused lately, but you see, I really am normal. I didn't mean what I said; I'm not like that. It was just stress, that's all. Just the stress of the tournament. I'm sure now that the first task is over, I'll get over—I'll be back to normal. I'm sure I'm fine now, honest."_

"Mr Potter?" Professor McGonagall charged through the door, fully dressed and face serious. She looked around the empty room before focusing on Harry.

Every rehearsed word died in his throat. He anxiously gathered any ounce of courage he had and managed to croak, "I didn't mean it. Yesterday. I didn't… I… I'm not..."

Professor McGonagall seemed thoroughly confused until her shoulders slumped woefully. Harry looked away, not knowing if what he saw was the beginning of pity or disappointment.

"What I mean to say is… I'm _normal._ Yesterday—it was a stressful day and sometimes people, that is stress can sometimes, or I heard that, you know, stress can—"

"Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall interrupted quietly. "I believe I said I was proud of you. I see no reason for further discussion."

Harry felt a little like he couldn't breathe. He wrung his hands. "I'm _not._ "

"What you _are_ , Mr Potter, is a student out of bed who is behind on his homework. You have Double Transfiguration today, and regardless of being a Hogwarts champion _or_ what you think you should or should not be—I expect your full essay on the _Orchideous_ spell _._ "

Harry sighed, still not looking up. "Yes, Professor." He moved toward the door, but Professor McGonagall stopped him.

"And for the record, Mr Potter, ' _normal_ ' is just a setting on Muggle laundry contraptions. I'm aware that it is your relatives' ambition to be ' _normal_ ', but I highly recommend you take a much happier, self-fulfilling path for yourself."

Cautiously, Harry looked back at her. She looked just as stringent as ever, but her eyes shone with understanding. Harry suddenly felt her words from the day before, that unspoken challenge to be brave enough to explore his own identity. 

He straightened his back and lifted his head high. "Yes, Professor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is admittedly a shorter chapter. I tried to make it that the reason for Harry's reactions to things are different from canon (ie, Ron's apology that never actually came in the book) is because of the disaster-gay thing. Which I will be the first to joke about, but in my own coming out, I unintentionally catalogued the people I had, who I thought I would still have if they knew, and randomly telling the people I thought I would lose how much I cared about them. I can testify that people will honestly surprise you, and I wanted our disaster-gay Harry to have that experience.
> 
> May this week be good! I'll be posting the next chapter in a few hours, life-permitting. I would right now but I need to proof it and, to be frank, food. Heads-up for some stan-Hagrid!


	5. "I'm afraid not"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> O.O I had meant to post this one last week, didn't I? In my defence… well, I completely forgot, not to put too fine a point on it. Let's see if I can get the next post ready to make up for it.
> 
> Please note, there is dialogue not just from the book, but also from the game Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery.  
> Also, a headcanon I see often is applied here, which is Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts weren't exactly legal.
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS!  
> My mother was over the moon to receive so many cards! I did indeed buy one for each well-wish comment and wrote down what you said. She's pretty weak, so she didn't have the energy to elaborate anything, but the nurse told me that they are lining her window, and she keeps showing them to the staff!
> 
> One commenter, MayeTaisho, gave the suggestion that the little dragon would make for a great gift! I agree, and thank you for the great idea! It also gave me another, so who gives it to whom… give you one guess where the dragon went in this chap.
> 
> Another commenter, Elaine_ORoake, said something about the last chapter that has me in fucking stitches!!!  
> "Harry: I’m gay!  
> McGonagall: cool, but like, that’s not gonna help rn"  
> LOLOLOLOLOL I wanted everyone to see!
> 
> (If I mentioned you by name and you don't want me to, just tell me. And if you want to comment but not be mentioned in the future, just let me know!)

Harry did have his _Orchideous_ essay and turned it in with a grin, which Professor McGonagall briefly returned.

He couldn't help keeping the miniature Horntail with him and felt proud when the doofer learned how to crawl out of his pocket and began scurrying around Harry's person. Ron likewise thought it was brilliant, but Hermione shied away from it and eyed it judgmentally.

However impulsive and daring his confession to Professor McGonagall was, it had made him feel lighter than even completing the first task did. In a way, her no-nonsense acceptance of him was like her acceptance of regular magical theory, and it felt like he had been given permission to be this way. That he was _allowed_. It felt as novel and freeing as learning he was allowed magic.

He rode that high right up until he crash-landed the next night he met up with Malfoy.

As always, Malfoy was already waiting, but this time had been waiting inside the loo, which Harry only found out when, ten minutes past their meeting time, Malfoy stuck his head out and hissed at him. Trying to convince an annoyed Malfoy that one wasn't late but was actually just stupid enough not to _look inside_ was an experience he could have done without.

Next, Harry attempted to show off his miniature dragon, still a rather impressive doofer, if he thought so himself, but Malfoy was altogether _unimpressed_ and mocked Harry for bringing something he could so easily lose in the Chamber. Which proved embarrassing when Harry did indeed lose it. To as not highlight that embarrassment, Harry forewent looking for it, hoping that maybe he could come back some other time without Malfoy and search for it and that in the meantime, the thing wouldn't trying eating off the basilisk.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was solely focused on his task, and it depressed Harry that Malfoy was clearly uninterested in whether or not Harry was even there. He tried to tell himself that it was a good thing, that maybe it would give him time to really observe Malfoy and figure himself out.

That backfired spectacularly as his thoughts when observing Malfoy, while admittedly analytical, weren't entirely logical.

_He has really great hands. Long fingers. They look soft—I bet they are soft. That seems like a Malfoy thing, to have lotions and stuff he actually applies, probably smells good too. He always has a citrusy smell, would his lotion smell like that? Or his soap maybe, like a body soap, that he uses on his whole body while in the shower without clothes—_

Finally, after an hour of getting distracted and physically shaking his head to dislodge the thoughts, Malfoy began to notice. He mocked Harry for having fleas, to which Harry defended that he was just trying not to fall asleep.

This apparently had Malfoy assuming he and his work were boring. Which, the work was a little not to mention gross, but Harry moreover felt himself relaxing to Malfoy's voice when it wasn't so sharp and ruthless. Regardless, the assumption led to a snoopy lecture about the, oh so important, research and delicate task that was harvesting a basilisk. That really _did_ almost put Harry to sleep.

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, this isn't a lecture course!" he interrupted loudly, having had enough.

"It might as well be," Malfoy shot back. He had spent a good while just flipping through books and setting things up. Now, he had a full-body apron with elbow-length dark gloves on with admittedly intimidating tools in each hand, not to mention a face mask that made him look quite like a mad scientist. Where he had produced a stool to stand on, Harry had no idea, but on it he stood, towering over Harry who was sitting cross-legged a few metres away to stay clear of the mess. 

"I really don't care that much about this bloody creature," Harry whined. "It already tried to kill me once, please stop trying to finish its job by going on about its digestive system…"

"This information is extremely important, Potter. With how you go stomping into any and everything, you would get yourself killed if you did this."

There was a muted squish sound as Malfoy did something with the tools, hunched a little over the beast.

"I'll have you know I had to suck up to that oaf Hagrid about his outrageous, illegal skrewts just to get access to the Restriction Section's unit on magical creat—"

It took a moment for the words to process in Harry's brain, but when they did, he sat up straight. "Illegal?"

"— _where_ ," Malfoy pressed over his interruption, "I encountered all manner of foul information about creatures not even your basilisk and dragon-slaying self could manage."

"Illegal?" Harry tried again, putting his own annoyance in his tone.

Malfoy snorted over another muted squishing sound. "Do you honestly think even the Ministry would allow for any regulations of _those_ that would grant permission for fourth-year kids to study?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought about it, but… "Shit."

"What eloquence to match your observational prowess," Malfoy drawled. 

Harry blushed because if only Malfoy knew his 'observational prowess.' He bit his lip in consideration, though. "Exactly what would…" he started but stop, remembering who he was speaking to.

"... Exactly?" Malfoy led. There was a wet-sounding _pop_. "Actually be of some usefulness, Potter, and bring me a jar."

Harry sighed but got up and went over to Malfoy's work-chest-station. "What size?"

"Twent—… Medium-small."

Harry grabbed one of the jars between the smallest and medium jars and approached Malfoy, still thinking of Hagrid. Malfoy flung out a hand without looking at him, and careful to avoid whatever was coating Malfoy's glove, Harry passed it over.

If Hagrid was raising illegal blast-ending skrewts, that could potentially spell out big problems. Specifically, since the school of governors already had put Hagrid on trial for the previous year—his _first_ year of teaching—for bringing dangerous animals to lessons. Mind, Harry wouldn't think it a bad thing if the Ministry executed the skrewts, but he doubted Hagrid's career would last another trial so quickly.

He scowled at Malfoy, who he decided was solely to blame for this. "Why are you even enrolled in Care of Magical Creatures?"

It was hard to tell because Malfoy had somehow stolen their collective _Lumos_ to hover above where he worked, but Harry thought his shoulders tensed. "Why do _you_?"

"Seemed more interesting than the other options."

"Divinations, Potter? You found that more interesting than something like Ancient Runes?"

"Well… I mean, yeah."

Malfoy sighed. "You are hopeless, Potter. Truly hopeless."

Harry crossed his arms. "You haven't answered my question."

Malfoy was silent a moment. "Magical animals, like Herbology, can be a large area in Potions."

"So, what, you want to be a Potions Master?" He snorted. "A mini-Snape?"

"One could have far worse ambitions than emulating Professor Snape," Malfoy snapped.

"I can see it," Harry mocked. "You twirling around the dungeons like a bat."

"Snape doesn't twirl." 

"Oh please, how else does he manage to be so dramatic with his robes."

"Professor Snape has more talent and skill in his little pinky than you ever will!" Malfoy spun around on his stool to yell at Harry's face. "You can't even do a common firsty potion without blowing your cauldron up!"

Harry was taken aback, nonpulsed at the real venom in Malfoy's voice. Harry had definitely hit a strong nerve, and he didn't like how Malfoy's face was completely in shadow, ominously, but Harry could still feel his hateful glare like a physical weight. Every single one of Malfoy's walls that Harry hadn't even known had been down now slammed back up. Harry knew that the two Slytherins favoured each other over the other professors and students, but apparently, he had no idea the extent of it.

"I… I think you're confusing me with Seamus."

Silence passed between them a beat, Malfoy just staring at him. Slowly, he seemed to accept that as the apology it was and turned back to the basilisk. Harry let out a slow breath.

He felt awkward next. He wrung his hands a little, looking anywhere but Malfoy. He felt like some neutral ground has been building between them, however tentative, and now he had just dropped a bomb on it. It was odd—he used to always associate Snape and Malfoy with the same degree of animosity, but with Malfoy creeping into his thoughts and dreams, the scales outweighed each other. Harry, against his better judgment, was giving Malfoy a chance, he supposed. It was mostly selfish, wanting to prove himself to Malfoy and wanting to figure out why it was him to have caught Harry's attention.

Harry focused on Malfoy in the corner of his eye, who was standing on his tip-toes on the stool—it now looked more like a small ladder although Harry couldn't see it properly with limited lighting—to hunch further over the large creature. Both his elbows were fanned out and moving up and down almost like a slow the chicken dance.

Now, he felt like he was trying to prove to himself that maybe Malfoy was… _something_ enough to warrant his attention and not him just being unhinged. That if he tried just a little bit, Malfoy would try just a little bit back, and maybe somebody that wasn't an evil-adjacent pompous bastard was underneath. That there was an excuse, some reason, for his cruel words and callous actions. That someone good could be inside that body that looked like it could go for miles… That he could be capable of kind smiles as he leaned over Harry, pressing that kind smile on those pink lips onto his throat—

He winced then sighed heavily, letting his head hang. Perhaps he simply needed to practise not associating those kinds of thoughts with something _bad_ first, then figure out _why Malfoy_.

_Identity is a life-long journey; identity is a life-long journey…_

They didn't speak again, not even to say goodbye, for the rest of the night.

___________

Harry did practise allowing himself his 'abnormal' thoughts. Giving himself that blanket permission, however, opened him up to a whole world of distractions.

For one, Neville had been slowly losing his baby-fat and weight and was rapidly becoming taller to even the rest out. At the rate he was going, Harry could see him being quite fit. For another, Cedric Diggory was really… _really_ , really handsome. His jaw and cheekbones could probably cut glass, and his eyes were so bright—and unguarded, unlike some people he could name.

Some of the Beauxbatons boys wore their thin uniforms tighter than probably necessary, and they all seemed to sit so gracefully, even when they were shifting in their seats being rowdy during meals.

"Harry! That's _my_ juice!"

The Drumstang ran drills in the afternoon. Harry assumed that they wore much thicker clothing wherever their school was, but here, even at the start of December, it was warm enough for them to dress down in sleeveless shirts and sometimes shorts. Some of the drills were obvious duelling styles and positions, contorting their bodies this way and that.

"Harry, pay attention, Flitwick's coming this way!"

It seemed like every Quidditch Chaser at Hogwarts had a straighter torso and more muscle formed in their arms. This was true of the girls, too, but the boys' torsos were more pronounced, although Harry could only see it if one of the other House's had slung off their robes in favour of just their button-up. Meanwhile, in Gryffindor tower, students ran in and out of dorms in various stages of dress or even pyjamas. Sixth-year Kenneth Towler, for example, seemed to only wear bottoms to bed and never a shirt.

"Mate, your getting toothpaste on the mirror."

Ravenclaw students would wear their uniforms without robes most often in the library. Harry knew their tower was second highest in the whole castle, and the more he observed, the more he began to realise that taking that many stairs so many times a day gave way to really fit legs and… very firm arses, to be frank. While other students utilised lower shelves to reach for high-up books, Ravenclaws, particularly the boys who were taller, merely had to stretch a little. Some of their untucked shirts lifted up to reveal how form-fitted their trousers were.

"Seriously, Harry, did you figure out the third theory of this spell?"

Hufflepuffs were apparently comfortable enough to disrobe in the greenhouses, and while he wasn't Justin Finch-Fletchy's biggest fan, the boy often would roll up his sleeves to work, sometimes even taking off his tie and unbuttoning his collar. He had a prominent collarbone and veiny arms, and really square palms that Harry thought would nicely make up for shorter fingers.

"Not that dirt—that's the old dirt!"

The Slytherins didn't seem comfortable enough to go without robes anywhere but around the lake. Harry wasn't quite sure why so many Slytherins could be seen throughout the day going in and out of the boathouses, but most of the time, they were a lot more casually dressed. It was hard to see them in detail when not directly on the grounds, but Harry could make out the boys from the stone terraces or steps directed that way. They were usually always joking with each other, and joking Slytherins apparently entailed a lot of playful shoving. Harry could see how easy it would be, for a playful shoving back and forth could turn into—

"Aah!" 

Pain sparked through Harry's knee as he skidded down a few steps, having missed one. A few students walking down them giggled at him as they walked around to pass him. He ignored them, tenderly wiping his knee while re-shouldering his bag.

"Harry…" Hermione sighed. They were on their way back from Herbology, and Harry's little tumble almost caused her and Ron one as well.

"What is it with you lately, mate?" Ron asked, giving Harry a helping hand up.

"Yeah, Harry, you seem more distracted than usual."

"This isn't distracted, this is spaced out," Ron corrected.

Harry scratched the back of his head. "Er, nothing really. I guess just… everything."

"Is it the egg?" Ron frowned. "You have months to figure that out."

"Months might not be enough," Harry parroted Hermione's usual warning right as she opened her mouth. "And no, not the egg. I've just been…" he shrugged, turning to continue up the stairs and resolutely not looking toward the lake, "you know."

"We don't know, that's why we're asking," Hermione said, stepping up beside him as they entered the castle.

"Whatever it is, mate, you better come back down to earth. Potions next."

Harry groaned. "With the Slytherins."

Hermione frowned at him, but Ron matched his sentiment. "I know. And Snape. Best to keep your head in the snake pit."

"No kidding."

"Have you noticed…" Hermione opened, sounding careful, "that some of the Slytherins haven't been…"

"As bad?" Ron grinned. "Yeah. Harry really showed them, with the dragon and all." Ron had been laying Harry's victory on thick whenever he could; Harry figured he was still making up for their fight.

"Maybe…" Hermione shrugged.

Harry clenched his jaw. He hadn't been missing that every time Slytherins come up, she began to hedge an obviously reluctant conversation. Each time, it made him feel caught out, that she knew of his secret meetings with Malfoy or worse. Malfoy didn't help either, the bastard. He hadn't let up on Harry—Harry doubted he ever would—but the timbre of his taunts had taken a turn. Harry liked to imagine it was to soften the blows or something. He wasn't stupid enough, however, to think it had anything to do with Harry but instead more likely to ensure Harry wouldn't get angry enough to stop taking him to the Chamber.

He wondered if he threatened that if Malfoy _would_ leave him alone. The only problem with that was Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to be left alone.

They arrived in the dungeons right when Snape was opening the doors, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their spot with Neville in the back, partnering up respectively.

"Today, we will be brewing the potent poison, Weedosoros. Take great care to keep this concoction away from your hands and mouth. If you do swallow some of this poison, immediately proceed to the Hospital Wing. The rest of us shouldn't have to be bothered with your convulsing."

Neville audibly gulped.

Snape waved his wand to the board, the name _Weedosoros_ appearing. "Who here can tell me the from what phrase this name was derived?"

Predictably, Hermione's hand shot up, and just as predictably, Snape ignored her.

"Zabini?"

"'Weed of Sorrows', sir."

"Correct. Five points to Slytherin. Upon consumption, the drinker will experience similar effects to what? Bulstrode?"

"Drink of Despair, sir, also known as the Emerald Potion."

"Five points to Slytherin. Now, anyone who has done the reading will be able to tell me the poison's main characteristic… Brown?"

Lavender stiffened in her seat, shoving a magazine down in her bag with her foot. "Uh… is it… the smell?"

"No. Ten points from Gryffindor. Parkinson?"

Parkinson smirked at Lavender over her shoulder. "A deep brown colour, Professor."

"Indeed. Take five points."

Harry began tuning out the lesson, simply writing down the answers as students gave them and they appeared on the board. He only really gave his attention when Malfoy was called on to answer.

"It is more impermanent, sir. The Drink of Despair can only be emptied or depleted by drinking it. The Weedosoros can become expired, and once expired, can be safely disposed of."

Not for the first time since his and Malfoy's last trip to the Chamber, Harry wondered about the relationship between him and the professor. Harry watched as Malfoy was asked a follow-up question, something he often did for Slytherins when they had forgotten or left out part of the answer. Harry never had Potions with any of the other houses, but he assumed it was a favoured chance he didn't grant anyone else.

Malfoy, however, usually got second and third follow-up questions as well. He was doing that this time as well, and Harry leaned over to watch Hermione. Those questions, she had to frown and clearly think about it. She had more of a tell that way, her face frowning before lighting up and raising her hand. He looked back at Malfoy and Snape, and Malfoy didn't appear to have any particular tell, but his voice did come out more slowly and measured.

Was it a test for Malfoy? A way Snape was showing extra favouritism by challenging him, stretching his knowledge to make conclusions on his own that Snape usually just told other students.

It seemed to be. Malfoy sat straighter at having gotten the question correct, but Snape didn't add that last question to the board like he did all the others. Harry chewed his lip, squinting at Malfoy and wishing he could read his mind so that there wouldn't be anything Malfoy-related that he was ignorant about.

The scraping of stools on the floor made him jump, and he realised that Snape had put up the ingredients for them to start brewing. Ron, as always, had gotten up to gather said ingredients, and Harry set to work filling their cauldron with water and setting the flame. Some of the base ingredients they already had stored in their respective kits, and Harry checked both his and Ron's to see them still reasonably stocked.

Ron, who apparently already knew this, came back with the rest, and they began chopping, mincing, smushing, and dicing and trying not to mix up their each mortars and pestles.

Snape trusted his class enough to begin their potions to sit at his desk and go through what Harry guessed were essays, but unlike usual, he kept getting up to do circuits around the room. This, of course, made them all more nervous, but from what Harry could tell from Neville's whispers to Hermione, the more he did this, the more frightened Neville was getting about the dangerous potion in general.

"He's probably doing it on purpose," Ron grumbled to Harry as Harry tapped out the number of stirs they needed. "He won't think it's a successful lesson unless someone _does_ go to the Hospital Wing."

Harry shrugged in answer, still counting.

Goosegrass was probably one of Harry's favourite smells—if it was normal to have favourite smells, of course—because it was like a mixture of something earthy and sweet. 

That was the last base ingredient before they moved on to more dangerous ones.

Harry's attention was caught from their work when Snape had gone a round of the classroom only to circle back to Malfoy's table where the blond was brewing with Crabbe. Or, rather, brewing with Crabbe there.

"Here," Harry said, pushing the whatever he was slicing toward Ron and pretending to lean over his book.

Snape appeared to be towering over Malfoy and his potion, but as Harry watched, he noticed Malfoy hover a hand over whatever he was about to drop into the cauldron before dropping it in. Malfoy had lifted his head up slightly, as though assessing the professor's reaction to whatever he was about to do. The same thing happened before he pulled something over toward himself to do something with, and then again before he added it.

As far as Harry could tell, Snape gave no actual signs one way or the other—until Malfoy went to add drops of nicotine. Snape held up a hand, and Malfoy stilled. Nothing seemed to happen. Then, Malfoy straightened and used his wand to adjust the flame underneath. Snape lowered his hand, and Malfoy added the drops.

Snape _was_ giving Malfoy extra favouritism. Harry thought back to how strongly Malfoy reacted to Harry's comments on Snape and frowned down at his book.

What was their relationship? Trying to think through an unbiased lens, Harry had to admit that Malfoy always was very respectful to Snape, more so than he had seen him be to other professors besides Flitwick and Sprout. Moreover, Malfoy always clearly worked harder to please Snape, the only person Harry could really think of seeing Malfoy _working_ to please instead of expecting it handed to him. Likewise, Snape always gave Malfoy more of a break—than _anyone_ but even other Slytherins—yet it always felt like Snape expected more from Malfoy.

"I should add this next, right?"

"Sure."

He looked back up, and Snape had moved on to continuously wander around the room, watching his students. Malfoy had sat down and was writing inside a small diary of some kind, every now and then looking up at his notes or his potion before writing again. Crabbe beside him was also sitting, chin rested in his hand, and was using Malfoy's stirring rod to flick at the flames. Harry stretched a little to look at the potion itself and saw it was a dark brown colour.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped, jerking his head to Snape who was directly in front of him. Beside him, Ron was viciously trying to stir their potion, presumably to stop it from getting to the bright yellow it was attempting to become.

He looked at their table, to the board, then back to the table. He and Ron had the flame too high, the excess goosegrass was gone, and no nicotine had been added. As he assessed this, their cauldron began to shake.

Snape let out a growl and waved his wand, their potion instantly disappearing with a loud whistle that, if Snape's shout of his name didn't get their attention, had everyone looking over.

"Do you enjoy being this much of an idiot?"

The usual hatred and anger boiled in Harry's belly, making him clench his fist. Some of the Slytherins were openly sniggering at him.

His eyes flew to Malfoy, who was turned around watching them, his face unreadable but diary and quill still in hand.

Was Harry trying to somehow give Malfoy a chance? Was Harry not only willing but also wanting to reach out—to see if Malfoy would reach back, to see if there even was a possibility of a middle ground? _If_ he did, _would_ Malfoy reach back? If Harry showed he was willing to take the first step, first _real_ step and not secret meetings that were probably equally selfish on both ends, would Malfoy meet him halfway? 

Hell, would he even notice Harry's step?

Harry looked back up at Snape, meeting his cold eyes. He could almost hear Malfoy taunting him with how Gryffindor this was, but he made a snap decision to go with his impulse and take a leap of faith.

Making sure no sarcasm was in his voice, he said, "No, sir. You're right, I was being idiotic. I was not giving my full attention to the potion, which you had warned us several times is highly dangerous. I was putting myself and everyone else at risk. You trusted us to be wise enough to make this responsibly, and I was betraying that. I apologise, and I will do better."

Actual gasps could be heard through several parts of his little—and _very_ generous and sickeningly arse-licking—speech, from both Gryffindors and Slytherins. He could see Ron in the corner of his eye staring at him with his mouth literally hanging open. The room was dead quiet after, and Snape bored into his eyes in that way of his that made Harry suspect he had x-ray vision.

Harry didn't look away though. For one, he wasn't going to actually show cowedness despite his carefully appeasing words, and for another, he wanted Snape to see that he was _really_ trying here—even if it was for Malfoy.

Unexpectedly and seeming out of nowhere, Snape's eyebrows flew up, a look of shocked astonishment on his face. Harry half expected that expression at his words but not a full ten seconds afterwards. Snape looked down quickly, however, and when he looked back, his usual sneer was firmly in place. Although his eyes were just as sharp, if not also calculating.

Snape let the seconds tick by, the room becoming quieter and quieter. Then he responded lowly, his voice carrying regardless, "A real apology from a Gryffindor and perhaps a genuine lesson learned for someone whose head is as thick as yours. Hell must have frozen over. Ten points from Gryffindor for your carelessness… and, one point to Gryffindor for your fairness."

Harry's jaw dropped then, and whispers swept through the room, Parvati almost unseating herself to reach Lavender. Snape lingered just a moment, and Harry got the impression that the point awarded to him had nothing to do with Potions.

As Snape swept back up to the front, calling for an immediate return to their work, Ron's hand latched onto his arm.

"Mate."

"I know," Harry breathed, eyes still on Snape.

"Mate."

"I know."

" _Mate._ "

"I _know_."

"I'm proud of you, Harry," Hermione said. Harry dragged his wide eyes away from the professor to look at her. She seemed very cautious and was frowning, but she still gave a quick, small smile. "That was very big of you."

"This is a dream, isn't it?" whispered Neville, visibly shocked to his bones. "I'm dreaming."

Hermione patted his arm and refocused him on their potion. Ron was still squeezing Harry's own arm.

Harry chuckled, trying to pry his hand off. "Breathe, Ron."

"That—… Harry. You… You are either the bravest or stupidest person I have ever met."

Harry grinned at him, finally able to get him to let go. "Thanks, mate. Let me know if you figure out which one because I'm not sure myself."

Ron grinned back, looking dumbfounded, and turned back to their cauldron only to let out a groan. "Zero marks again…"

Harry felt eyes on him, and he looked over to see Malfoy had turned back as well but was peeking over his shoulder at him, watching. Harry tried to give him a slow nod. After all, Harry just did that for the bastard—and he bloody better well know it.

________

It was disturbingly evident that Hagrid fancied Madame Maxime, which normally, Harry would have supported completely. Hagrid was amazing with such a big heart, and Madam Maxime, in all honesty, seemed like she could take him.

As they prepared for their Care of Magical Creatures class, however, his liking to the woman brought with it single-malt whiskey fumes from where Hagrid kept her magical horses. Which was not ideal as they were still tending to the, probably highly illegal, blast-ended skrewts.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not. Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip… We'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes…"

They were now about six feet long, still grey, and with suckers, stings, and fire-blasting tendencies, that it was no wonder there were only ten left. In fact, Harry thought perhaps it was fortunate that only the skrewts were dying and not anything else. He was outright morose as Hagrid presented boxes lined with pillows and blankets. Hagrid had provided each skrewt with more comfort than Harry ever had at the Dursleys altogether, much less the cupboard.

"We'll jus' lead 'em in here an' put the lids on, and we'll see what happens."

The skrewts not only did not hibernate but were apparently insulted by the notion. Most of the class almost immediately fled to Hagrid's hut, leaving only a handful to help restrain the angry doofers, Harry, Ron, and Hermione included. Before they captured the last one, a familiar but wholly unwelcomed voice interrupted.

"Well, well, well… this _does_ look like fun."

Harry immediately tensed up, balling his fist and spending to where Rita bloody Skeeter was leaning against one of Hagrid's fences.

He stared her down. His heart thundered in fear of what the ever-living-hell she would print if she knew half the thoughts in his head—which were _abnor—norm…_ Thoughts that were something that was _acceptable,_ if maybe unusual, even to the strictest woman Harry knew. He hated that he felt anxiety at the sight of Skeeter.

What she had already printed about him was bad enough. He couldn't stomach…

Hagrid had thrown himself bodily on the last skrewt, and as he wrestled it into a lead to tie it back up, he asked, "Who're you?"

"Rita Skeeter, _Daily Prophet_ reporter," she answered, smiling brightly enough to show golden teeth.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore." Hagrid frowned, tying the lead securely.

Rita replied quickly, louder and more cheerfully. "What are these fascinating creatures called?"

"Blast-Ended Skrewts."

"Really? I've never heard of them before… where do they come from?"

Harry's stomach rolled as he noticed red spreading in Hagrid's cheeks. He knew the man well enough that it wasn't from the exertion of finishing off the skrewt's knot. 

Hermione jumped forward then. "They're very interesting, aren't they? Aren't they, Harry?"

Harry blinked before catching on. "Yes! Yes. I, personally, find them very, er, interesting."

"Ah, _you're_ here, Harry!" Skeeter cooed.

The door to Hagrid's hut squeaked open.

Skeeter continued to Harry, "So, you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favourite lessons?"

"Yes. Absolutely," Harry returned tightly.

"Lovely." She smiled and looked back to Hagrid. "Really lovely. Been teaching long?"

"This is on'y me second year," Hagrid replied with clear pride in his voice. 

Harry remained glaring at Skeeter, but he didn't miss how her eyes roamed over the other students, both those who had been injured in the lesson and those stumbling out of the hut.

She smirked. "Lovely… I don't suppose you'd like to give an interview, would you? Share some of your experience of magical creatures? The _Prophet_ does a zoological column every Wednesday, as I'm sure you know. We could feature—"

"I'm afraid not," interrupted a pompous voice.

Harry jerked around to see Malfoy, who originally had been one of the leaders inside Hagrid's hut to escape the skrewts, striding toward Skeeter with a shit-eating grin.

Skeeter looked surprised to see him but smiled nonetheless. "Ah, Master Draco, you are also in this lesson?" 

"But of course," he answered, shrugging a shoulder as though it was the most logical thing in the world. "I wouldn't abandon the course, even with my history."

"Your history?" Skeeter asked, perking up.

"It's only a matter of public record. I began this course last year and had an incident in the first lesson. I was injured, you see."

Skeeter looked incredibly pleased, her green Quick-Quote Quill and parchment zooming out of her handbag.

"Professor Hagrid brought me immediately to the school's medical wing, and my father ensured that a thorough investigation happened."

Harry felt sick, numbness spreading throughout his body. He tried very hard to push away how this was making him feel, which was mostly betrayed.

"As you can see, Professor Hagrid still has his job as he did nothing wrong. But I'm afraid the entire incident and my family's subsequent actions have made new magical creatures added the curriculum to be under _private_ review. You understand, of course."

"Oh, of course!" Skeeter grinned away her plain disappointment, both the quill and parchment slinking back into her bag. She aimed her grin at Hagrid. "How trying for your first year! I would love to tell your side of the story."

The castle's bell rang then, announcing the lesson's end. Most everyone began marching off. 

Harry, equal parts confused as curious, met eyes with Malfoy. Malfoy did a face as he followed his Slytherins, but Harry couldn't decipher it. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione tried to stay to prevent Skeeter from locking Hagrid down to an interview, but Hagrid waved them along. They went dejectedly.

"We should have warned him," Hermione lamented as they climbed back to the castle.

"He should know!" Ron argued. "And bloody Malfoy. If Hagrid goes back up for review—"

Hermione injected, "He won't. Malfoy actually helped Hagrid."

"What?!" both Harry and Ron exclaimed. Harry had begun feeling cold where he felt numb before, strange duplicity running through him. Hermione's words lit a fire through it.

"Skeeter was only there to get more information on Harry, to publish something else. I doubt she would have published anything about Hagrid or those monsters, to begin with, but Malfoy just ensured she won't go near it. Not only does his name and—" Hermione's eye twitched "—blood status give him a lot of weight, but the implications that the school's governors _and_ his father are already doing private reviews…"

"Are they?" Ron asked, sounding horrified.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed.

Harry felt that coldness return. "I… I don't either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if it was ever canonically confirmed, but ever since we learned about Legilimency, I always assumed that every time Harry stares down Snape (or at Dumbly) and the other's stare was describe as piercing, x-rayish, or probing, that they were using that on Harry. So, just in case I didn't make that obvious, this is exactly what I meant Snape to have done in Potions.
> 
> And yes, on top of getting a reading for Harry's developing feelings and their sincerity, I totally picture him also getting uh… more than an eye-full, lol. No, nothing pervy or explicit. But hey, accidentally stumbling on what people get up to in private is the hefty price you pay for reading their mind without consent.  
> I imagine he immediately tried to dose his brain in acid right after the lesson.
> 
> Fun fact: Goosegrass has a mixed smell of new-mown hay and vanilla, making it the dried plant of choice that used to pack mattresses!
> 
> Also: the reason why there are drops of nicotine in the potion here (of which there are no known ingredients) is because nicotine is something that opens and encourages cognitive thinking. Let's take for an example, most everyone knows nicotine to be in cigarettes and other tobacco products. When stressed, people addicted to nicotine will crave more of it because stress limits cognitive thinking. For a further example, thinking BBC's Sherlock and "three-patch problem"-when faced with a problem Sherlock cannot automatically deduce, he relies on nicotine to encourage his cognitive thinking. The reason why I made it an ingredient is that the Drink of Despair (potion Dumbly drinks in book 6 in the cave) induces fear, etc, so imagine how more powerful that is when your cognitive abilities are put on the extreme.


	6. "Dancing partner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for these being later than expected. Since Corona took my job, and therefore my only reliable access to my personal drive, I've had a hell of a time trying to get my old computers to work (this one's over a decade old). But I did it!
> 
> Also, please forgive any extra typos - no beta, and this thing doesn't support my usual spelling check software.
> 
> The lifted dialogue here is from the chapter The Unexpected Task where McGo discusses the ball and Harry's line about girls travelling in packs. That last one is just because I've always thought it was so funny.
> 
> Heads up, there's some homophobic language in this chapter.
> 
> This is a double chapter update, so please lookout for the next. After these babies are up, I'll circle back to comments!

Fortunately, nothing about Hagrid appeared in the papers, and strangely enough, Snape began to largely leave Harry alone.

Malfoy somehow had slipped a note into Harry's Charms textbook, and when they met up again to go into the Chamber, they were back to a tentative normal. Harry had asked him if new creatures really were under private review, and Malfoy had scoffed and called him an idiot. It wasn't a direct answer, but Harry felt better about the whole thing. From there, they restricted any conversation to only the basilisk and the Chamber.

For whatever reason, that seemed to become the main criterion with them because if they mentioned anything else, almost literally anything else, some form of argument broke out. It was as if the novelty of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, putting aside their rivalry to harvest a basilisk inside the Chamber of Secrets, was rapidly wearing off in favour of their usual and habitual animosity. Harry's casual, "Wow, that's a pretty advanced spell" was a catalyst to a detailed monologue in all the ways he was inferior in spellwork. Likewise, Malfoy's small admission at another point of, "I got the idea when Professor Flitwick cooed over Granger's latest essay," was met with a spitting rant about Malfoy's prejudices.

It was both a familiar comfort to Harry, to have a consistency somewhere in his life, and also disappointing. He wasn't sure what it was for Malfoy, however. Harry quickly learned that a simple, "I didn't mean it like that; I was complimenting you," shut Malfoy up more effectively than any silencing spell. Only for him to become a little nastier in return.

But then when they met up once more, Malfoy was surprisingly neutral.

Harry felt a bit triumphant at that, and he sensed it was because of their Potions lesson earlier that day. Although Snape was leaving him alone around the rest of the castle, Harry figured that probably wouldn't hold in class, so he went in determined not to rise to the bait and to pay attention.

Well, there was hardly a cause that could get Harry to pay attention to Potions, but now that Harry was allowing himself a more wandering eye, he was able to channel his impulse to watch Malfoy into observing his potion-making skills.

He was admittedly, and begrudgingly, impressed. Malfoy seemed to be keeping his own hand-written recipe book, the diary Harry had seen him writing in last time, and although he took notes as the rest of the class did, he seemed to combine them all together in the diary along with Merlin knew what else. It did, however, give him plenty of opportunities to copy him. He naturally did a few things wrong, but his potion turned out more acceptable than usual.

Snape barely sneered at it and didn't take any points. He also only snapped at Harry a couple of times, and Harry meanwhile would merely nod at him and do as he said.

Ron had called him bonkers, Hermione pointedly interrogated why his attitude had suddenly changed, and Neville stared at him in awe. Harry shrugged them off and took pleasure later reaping the rewards of Malfoy's changing behaviour.

He felt ridiculous, but he couldn't say he minded.

Everything else in his life seemed to be improving as well. It was such a relief to have Ron back and for the school at large to be less hostile toward him. Harry guessed the latter had to do with Cedric Diggory, whom Harry suspected had told the Hufflepuffs to lay off in return for Harry's tip about the dragons. There were even less _Support Cedric Diggory_ badges, too, even among the Slytherins. A few Slytherins still tried to taunt Harry with Skeeter's article, but they weren't getting nearly as many laughs, and they seemed to be giving up.

Even Professor Trelawney's usual prediction of his death didn't faze him, and he couldn't really find it in himself to care when Hagrid reported that Skeeter only wanted to talk about Harry during their interview. It was obvious she was currently looking for a new angle on Harry, as playing up the tragic hero would soon become boring.

He was just settling into this new routine when Hermione snatched up him and Ron one evening and pulled them toward the kitchens. They were scared for a moment that this was one of her S.P.E.W. traps, but for once, it wasn't.

Harry was shocked to see Dobby, who had just recently been hired on at Hogwarts along with Winky.

Dobby looked a million times better than he did when under the Malfoys. It gave Harry a twisted, cool pleasure to know that he was responsible for freeing Dobby from Mr Malfoy, as well as being responsible for luring Mr Malfoy's son into the depth of the Chamber Mr Malfoy had tried to use to sack Dumbledore and kill Ginny. Arguably, his real goal was sacking Dumbledore and ruining the Weasleys good name and reputation, but with something as dark as Riddle's diary, he had to have known death was likely and thought it an acceptable risk.

It made Harry wonder once again if Malfoy knew his father's role that year.

Dobby now looked healthy and happy. Clearly, freedom suited him, which was more than Harry could say for Winky. The difference between them was striking, one bubbly and bragging about his new wages, the other gloomy and horrified, bound and determined to stay loyal to her former master.

Harry winced when Hermione tried to get Winky to see that freedom was a good thing, and it went over about as well as he expected. He was, however, surprised to hear that Mr Crouch apparently bad-mouthed Mr Bagman enough at home for Winky to classify him as a bad wizard. He also felt a sinking feeling of dread at Dobby's proclamation of the Malfoys being _dark_ wizards and more than little sadness as Dobby immediately attempted to punish himself for saying anything.

They left the kitchens with arms full of sweets, and Harry laughed along with Ron about how easy it was despite Fred and George always making it seem like a grand feat. He was happy at the way Ron took a shining toward Dobby and hoped with Hermione that the other Hogwarts elves took to emulating Dobby rather than Winky.

On the way back to Gryffindor Tower, they passed by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle who were on their way to the dungeons, most likely.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes on their haul. Harry smirked back at him.

"What, Malfoy, never been to the kitchens before?"

Malfoy glared. "You just know all the secret spots in this bloody castle, don't you?"

"More or less."

"Figures," he grumbled, continuing on his way with a sour look on his face.

"Ha!" Ron tried to cheer with his mouth full of food.

Hermione hummed. "He hasn't really been provoking you, Harry, not lately. Why are you provoking him?"

Harry felt some colour heat his cheeks, and he shrugged sheepishly. Ron said something that sounded similar to _'he deserves it, Hermione_ '. Harry quickly changed the subject.

_________

"Potter! Weasley!"

Harry and Ron jumped. They were in Transfigurations, and since they had already finished their work on Cross-Species Switches and therefore bored, they had been having a sword fight with a couple of Fred and George's fake wands. Ron's was now a tin parrot, and Harry's was a rubber haddock. They both instinctively hid their items under the table, looking dutifully up at Professor McGonagall. Harry could feel the head of his haddock fall off and hoped it didn't roll off somewhere in view of McGonagall.

"Now that Mr Potter and Mr Weasley have been kind enough to act their age… I have something to say to you all.

"The Yule Ball is approaching—a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialise with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above—although you may invite a younger student if you wish."

Lavender giggled, Parvati elbowing her in the ribs although it was clear she wanted to giggle as well. Harry suppressed a groan as they both looked around to him. He tried not to glare as Professor McGonagall ignored them.

"Dress robes will be worn, and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then… The Yule Ball is, of course, a chance for us all to—er—let our hair down." She sounded woefully disapproving, and Harry eyed the professor's tight bun. "But that does _not_ mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behaviour we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way."

The bell rang then, and everyone immediately began packing up to leave. A lot of the girls were going into giggle-fits.

"Mr Potter—a word, if you please," Professor McGonagall said over them.

Guessing this had something to do with the sword fighting, he shot Ron a half-hearted glare and shuffled up to her desk. The professor waited until everyone had gone and the door was shut before facing him. She peered at him sharply, assessing.

"I am assuming you are aware that the champions require partners for the Yule Ball?"

"Partners?"

"Dance partners, yes."

" _Dance_ partners?" Harry squeaked. His stomach seemed to have found an endless pit and was free-falling at her words. "I— But I don't dance."

"Oh, yes, you do," she replied, sounding stricter. "Traditionally, the champions and their partners open the ball."

Harry shook his head emphatically. "No. No way. I can't do that."

"It is tradition. You are a Hogwarts champion, and you will do what is expected of you as a representative of the school," she said firmly, tone booking no argument. "However, I took the liberty of checking the rules, and nothing specifies a requirement for the partners."

"Huh?"

She gave him a look as if she couldn't tell if he was being purposefully ignorant, but was displeased regardless. "If it is your wish for your partner to be male, you can." 

Harry felt his eyes grow so big, it was a wonder that they were staying in his head. 

"I won't lie and say that there wouldn't be some push-back, and no doubt that such a public display would fuel the _Prophet_ for quite some time. It is not common practise in the wizarding world to be so open as I understand some Muggle communities have become. I have been discreet in my inquiries, but you can rest assured that if you so choose to do so, you will have the support of the staff."

Harry couldn't breathe.

"Mr Potter?"

"I… But, but you're the only one who even _knows_."

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "I see. I highly recommend letting in some other people, Mr Potter. Perhaps your friends, at least."

Harry shook his head again. "I— I don't… _how?_ Who? H-How do people just do that?"

The professor sighed, sounding tired and irritated. "Ultimately, it is entirely up to you. It's your choice whether or not to tell people or even face the alternating prescription of identity. If I may make a suggestion, however, I believe Miss Granger would be understanding."

Harry didn't know what his expression was, but it was enough to soften her features and sound less formidable.

"I found it best, when unsure of what another's reaction will be, that introducing the theory unbiasedly usually offers plenty of opportunities to observe initial reactions."

"What?"

"Find out how they feel about those with different preferences and start from there, Mr Potter." She sighed again. "I gather from this that I should not be expecting to have a meeting with the staff to ensure tolerance at the ball?"

Harry blinked, his stomach falling all over again. They weren't just talking about him, they were originally discussing whether or not Harry would… that Harry apparently _had_ to have a partner, and if he wanted to bring… Mortification surged through him, making him hot everywhere.

"I don't know… I… Probably, no…"

Professor McGonagall nodded sharply. "Just be sure to find a partner, Mr Potter, and if it is one that would be considered unexpected, inform me immediately."

"Yes, professor," he croaked.

He stood in horrified silence, mind desperately trying to process everything.

How in the world could he even consider taking a bloke to the ball when he couldn't even entertain the thought of telling his friends that he was...

"That was a dismissal, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall broke into his thoughts.

"Oh, right." Harry blinked again. His feet automatically carried him out of the room and to his next lesson, but Harry could honestly say it wasn't consciously done.

________

The conversation with Professor McGonagall seemed to have shaken Harry to his core, and it apparently showed. His friends tittered around him all afternoon and evening, asking if he was okay if he went too long lost in thought. Or when he abruptly became silent, having somehow forgotten about everything for a moment only to have it crash around him again.

He spent the night glowering at the ceiling in his four-poster bed, adamantly refusing to do anything else but wholly blame the bed for his situation. After all, it was in this very bed that he let himself wank for the first time. Let himself pull while thinking of people he knew. Gave over to fantasies and let himself chase what felt right instead of forcing himself to what didn't, let himself explore what felt good to him, admit with whom he would want to do it, all of which made a glaring sign of what exactly he was.

It was the tournament's fault as well. If he wasn't in the bloody thing, he might have been able to put off even thinking about it. Firmly placing it in the avoidance bin in his mind and cozied up to denial like the old friend it was. Instead, he cracked under the pressure of everything, making him focus on the easier question of, _am I this?_ Instead of the hardest one, _who is trying to kill me now?_

And of course, it was bloody, fucking, sodding _Malfoy's_ fault. If it wasn't for the fact that Malfoy very obviously had no clue what went on in his mind, Harry would have taken satisfaction in investigating what sort of drug or potion Malfoy slipped him to thoroughly fuck up his life.

He briefly thought of entertaining the idea that Harry _wasn't_ this. That it was merely a concentrated effort of evil to corner Harry into humiliation and outcast him from everyone he loved. If not for the bloke thing then the whole Malfoy of it all.

Harry couldn't, however, because oh no, Harry had been giving way to _identity's a fucking life-long journey_ , allowing him the simple gratification of observing whatever he liked. The experience sprouted holes so deep in his avoidance bin that old memories Harry had been doing well without resurfaced.

Like being small and desperately wanting Aunt Petunia's affection, so when he heard her shriek of a vile, disgusting thing such as homosexuality displayed in one of Dudley's programmes, he vowed to hold such an issue to her estimate. Or Uncle Vernon raging about new discrimination laws and how no one should have to be subjected to such filth as pillow biters in the workplace. Or Dudley casually mentioning a schoolmate had two moms, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's uproar of how sinful and unnatural it was, how those kinds of foul excuses for people shouldn't be allowed children. That they infected young, innocent children's minds and corrupted them.

Harry felt a lump in his throat at the memories, and he curled in on himself, swallowing it down. Knowing them, they wouldn't think him as some victim of corruption but rather proof there was a disease, and that thought hurt more than he thought it should.

Here, he would supposedly have the staff's support. He sure seemed to have Professor McGonagall's.

He thought about what it would be like. If it was simply okay to be this way, and everyone knew and accepted it. Better yet, what kind of paradise it would be if people didn't just assume he was one way or the other. All of it would be so much easier if there was already an allotment for someone like him, and he simply had to take his place. The world would still spin, and no one would blink an eye.

As it stood, he had told one person and survived.

He found himself chewing his nails as he mulled over both negative and positive reactions from those closest to him. It wasn't that he hadn't ever thought about telling people before, but faced with the blunt suggestion of it made him feel like he would rather have to fend against a dragon again.

One thing Harry knew for sure, however, was that there was no way he could take a bloke to the ball.

He didn't sleep a wink that night.

When before Harry couldn't take a step without noticing the boys, suddenly the castle seemed to be filled with nothing but girls. Giggling, whispering, blushing girls who, unfortunately, were noticing Harry right back.

"Why do they have to move in packs? How're you supposed to get one on their own to ask them?"

"Lasso one?" Ron suggested. "Got any idea who you're going to try?"

Harry didn't answer.

The majority of the school signed up to stay over the hols, and as they got steadily closer, the Yule Ball was all anybody talked about. A few brave girls approached Harry to ask him to it, and he was so taken off guard each time that he said no and bolted before he could catch up with his own thoughts. It was stupid, he could say yes to any of them and have the matter be solved. It was just... they smiled at him, blushing with hopeful batting eyes, and Harry just couldn't do it.

He and Ron had perfected procrastination at this point, after all, so he tried to keep his head down, distracting himself when he wasn't quietly panicking and trying not to brood.

__________

They were approaching the last week of term, and therefore, several exams. Between the ball and studying, Harry was relieved to find another cleverly hidden note in his Astronomy text requesting a night of basilisk harvesting.

Unfortunately, that particular night, the Gryffindors had Astronomy, and the only way to convey this to Malfoy was the groan loudly about it in the library, earning a sharp hushing order from Madam Pince. It worked, though. An hour later when he returned to his seat after putting away a few books, there was another note that simply said:

|Tomorrow then

Harry fought his smile and smoothed the note down, adding it to his secret pile that he was keeping.

The next night, Harry found Malfoy in the toilets, speaking surprisingly amicably with Moaning Myrtle. There was always a fifty-fifty chance of running into her, and it seemed Malfoy had learned what Harry had, which was the best way to keep her as calm as possible and ensure she wouldn't tell on them was to be nice to her.

Harry smirked to himself and wondered how difficult it was on Malfoy.

"It's all anybody is talking about," Myrtle said mournfully.

"Indeed," Malfoy agreed, "and I for one am quite sick of it."

Myrtle nodded and sniffed. "If I was alive, I still wouldn't go!"

"Don't sell yourself too short," Malfoy placated. "I'm sure you would have had loads of offers." 

Harry caught on that they were most likely talking about the ball, and he privately thought Malfoy's assurances were debatable. Then Malfoy smirked over his shoulder at Harry, and Harry knew he heard him come in. 

"I mean, even Potter's been asked."

Harry scowled and crossed his arms, looking away.

"You really think so?" the ghost sniffed.

"Absolutely."

"You're lying! You're just making fun of me!"

Malfoy sighed, but he did sound a little pleased. "Of course not. I'm sorry to cut this short, but we are on limited time, I'm afraid."

Myrtle let out a heartbreaking wail and soared into her toilet. Overall, it was a rather tame exit for her.

Harry opened the entrance without further ado and threw his bag in before jumping after it. He brought with him some of his easier homework and revisions, loathed to give Malfoy an opportunity to see him struggle with his studies.

As they began the trek to the second entrance, Malfoy began speaking. 

"So, Potter, pray tell, which of your gagging, giggling fans will be on your arm at the ball? That Hufflepuff that towers over you? One of the little firsties that shriek in delight at your mere presence? I do hope it's not one of them—how would we ever hear the music over your precious date's siren song… Ah, but wait, it's not one of them since they're already terrorising the school with their weeping that Perfect Potter rejected them."

Harry tried to not react, and Malfoy snorted unpleasantly.

"Perhaps the Weaslette? Her family probably can't afford the proper robes, but I doubt you would mind, would you, Potter? Chummy with the Weasleys impoverished ascetic."

"Watch it, Malfoy."

"Ooh, touch a nerve? Is it her then? Staking a claim on the female Weasley?"

"I said watch it," Harry bit out. "And no."

"No? Interesting. Another Gryffin-doe then? Or will you be gracing the other houses with your—"

"Shut up, Malfoy! I don't want to talk about the ball!"

Malfoy scoffed. "Then you'd be the only one."

"Apparently!" Harry threw out his hands, barely missing Malfoy's face with his bag. He yelled out for the second entrance to open and stomped into the chamber.

They hadn't been able to get rid of the rotting smell completely, but Malfoy did a good job vanishing the worst of it. He also had loads of ingredients and herbs, part of the complicated burden of the harvest, that covered the smell pretty well. Malfoy still needed a stool to be able to reach whatever part he was working on, which meant he inevitably would be having Harry go back and forth between him and the chest-work-station. Harry had found a mat of sorts during one of the times he got away with poking around it, and that mat he stomped to and sat on now, in a good position to be Malfoy's runner. Malfoy never protested nor moved it.

"I heard the champions have to open the ball," Malfoy continued, walking past Harry with his nose up.

Harry just grunted, pulling out his Divination work from his bag.

"Do you even know how to dance, Potter?"

 _No,_ Harry did not answer.

"You'll look a fool up there, I just know it. I'm looking forward to it. I think it's the perfect way to kick things off. Perfect Potter stomping on the other champion's toes."

Harry clenched his jaw, scowling as he watched Malfoy put on his apron and gear. He had removed his outer robes, and he was wearing different gloves tonight, ones that were tight and stretched up to his shoulders. Harry stared as he rolled one over his bicep.

"Perhaps if you take any _decent_ witch, she could lead for you. You'd have to be the one dipped and twirled, though, so you might lose even more respect at that."

"I don't even want to go," Harry grumbled, tearing his eyes away and focusing on his book. He needed to make predictions about the hols, and he didn't think it was a long shot to predict his death now over any of the other tasks.

"Aw, poor Potter, forced into a night of socialisation and delight."

Harry quirked a brow, not missing Malfoy's bitter undertones. "Who are you taking then?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Who else? Parkinson, of course."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course, you'd take the only witch panting after you."

"I have you know I've been asked plenty, thank you," Malfoy snapped.

Harry huffed but had no rebuttal because, as he peeked up to watch Malfoy lean over to tie up his special boots, Harry didn't doubt it.

"I'll also have you know that Pansy doesn't pant after me, Potter."

"Please, she melts when you so much as look at her."

Malfoy snorted. "Don't presume to ever know a Slytherin based on public appearance, you moron."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Riddle it out if you think you know everything."

Malfoy opened a few cabinets and began to mix something that glowed slightly. Harry obligingly added his own _Lumos_ to hover with Malfoy's as he began to work. Harry could tell by the set of his shoulders—and Harry _hated_ how he could tell just by the set of his shoulders—that Malfoy was pulling all his attention on his task. Trying not to feel confused, Harry focused on his own.

It was slow going, as Harry didn't have it in him to be creative at the moment, but after the third time Malfoy interrupted him to grab one thing or another, inspiration struck.

"Hey… Malfoy…"

Malfoy didn't answer.

"You've imagined my death, right?"

At that, Malfoy huffed. "Naturally."

"Probably a lot, too, right. Each of them horrific?"

Slowly, Malfoy looked at him over his shoulder, frown visible and suspicion sharp. "Why?"

Harry grinned at him. "You don't take Divinations, do you?"

Malfoy groaned. "I am in no mood to hear about your great heroics and feats against death—"

"No, no, I just mean, Professor Trelawney. She, well… she's bloody morbid, to be honest. Especially when it comes to me. I only ever get good marks when I'm predicting my own doom and gloom."

Malfoy went still then barked a laugh.

And it was a bark, Harry knew now. It was artistic in its own way, haughty and posh, yet musical and free. It took hearing it a couple of times to know why it reminded him of Sirius because the sound was so different, but it was most definitely a bark of laughter.

Malfoy twirled around on his stool to face Harry, and Harry, who was grinning, froze. His gut clenched and his toes curled at the picture Malfoy made. He had pushed up his goggles, so his hair was a mess, flopping down around the straps and lens. The slightly glowing mixture he had made was properly glowing now, a light purple, and its residue was glowing as well, on both his apron and gloves. There were some darker stains there, Harry knew, but they were hidden by the glow.

And Malfoy himself seemed to have lit up. He had a smile on his face, a genuine one, and his eyes seemed to dance in mirth. He looked so pleased, Harry could… 

He balled his hands and shoved them under his thighs where he sat cross-legged.

"You mean you are actually taking a course in coming up with ways to die?" Malfoy asked, sounding thrilled.

Harry worked his throat a little to get his voice back. "Y-yeah, I guess."

"Potter… Potter, this is glorious. This is the best news I've heard in weeks!"

"What?"

"Do you need material, is that why you're asking?" Malfoy smile went wide. "Imagination stretching thin after a couple of years? I've heard about Trelawney, but this, Potter, this is just too good. I must thank you. You have truly given the best yule present I could have asked for. Well, almost." 

He smirked wickedly, a warning if there ever was one, but there was something different about it than Harry was used to. The mirth was still there, not cruel but just… happy. Contented and teasing. Harry's stretched-thin imagination had conjured something similar for Harry, but apparently his imagination truly was limited because… it was _nothing_ compared to _this_.

"Well? Looking for ideas, or what?"

Harry licked his lips and nodded.

"Excellent," Malfoy practically purred. "Get your notes ready, Potter, I'm about to supply you with everything you'll need for the rest of your Divinations educational needs."

The following few hours were some of the most surreal, bizarre, and most fun Harry thought he had ever experienced.

Malfoy talked while he worked, so caught up in both activities that even when his Harry-death-scenarios went a little dark or mean and Harry snapped at him, he would merely throw out an apology and move on. It was hard for Harry to process that he sat there for literal hours, discussing his own possible deaths with Draco Malfoy, and not only did they not fight once, but Harry immediately missed it when it was over.

Malfoy did indeed supply Harry with enough material that Harry didn't doubt it would last him probably through sixth year. 

Some of them were admittedly depressing: dying alone from a home accident and not being found for days because no one cared to look in on him; committing suicide because he was so miserable and no one ever found out and his name went down forever as merely missing when people eventually noticed he was gone, being murdered because a loved one finally got sick of looking at him. Despite that, they were still funny, or at least they were the way Malfoy presented them.

Some of them were eerily reasonable, considering Harry's life: struck down by evildoers, cursed by begrudged peers, sacrificing himself to save a friend, even just simply death by quite literally being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those weren't so funny, and Harry wondered what it meant that Malfoy presented them as ideas so obvious, he was sure Harry had already used them.

But then there's were the utterly ridiculous: death by over-confidence; death by caviar; death by politeness and rudeness; death by trying to grow a beard; death by knife-wielding birds; death by Muggle packaging tape; even death by being trapped in a closet, which had Harry unexpectedly throwing his head back and bursting in loud laughter that startled Malfoy. He gaped at Harry while Harry tried to calm down, for once highly amused by the irony, and when he composed himself he grinned up at Malfoy.

"That one's my favourite."

Malfoy frowned at him. "You are… odd," he said quietly, voice a little strained.

Harry thought he could return the sentiment at the moment. But Malfoy abruptly turned back to his work and continued, so Harry didn't question him. Just shook his head and added the death to the list.

They had worked later than they usually did, and even their parting words whispered quietly in the wee hours were said with much lighter intent than they ever exchanged. Malfoy promised to let Harry know if he thought of any others and even offered to review his work for Divinations for now on. Harry, wanting to hold onto that night, agreed.

Harry went to bed, smiling. He felt stupidly giddy, but he couldn't help it.

For the world, he should be seething that Malfoy had such a ready stockpile of death scenarios at the ready, but Harry could tell quite a few of them were made up on the spot. And it felt so good to laugh, however much he kept trying to reel it in.

He was a fool, probably, but he went to sleep deciding maybe he was ready to talk to someone. Not about Malfoy, but he could talk about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please no one be upset about Malfoy's pure joy at imagining ways Harry could die. In this, I'm creating Malfoy with a really morbid sense of humour, and Harry has it too. It's very similar to my own, which not everyone gets, I know. I think Malfoy likes to think his joy is purely from the torment of the enemy, but in reality, he just finds it utterly hilarious that there would be a class where the only way to get good marks is to predict the worst. It's def something that's funny in the books and that canon Harry and Ron can find enjoyment in.
> 
> Reminder, this is a double chapter update, and I am working on a really old, slow computer currently. If you do not see the next chapter button, refresh, and please be patient if you have to do it several times… This thing freezes like black ice.


	7. "We're friends now"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's "willyougototheballwithme" is obviously not happening, but I substituted it.

Harry was quiet the next couple of days, thinking it over.

He was nagged and pressured by Ron about asking someone to the ball, Ron constantly muttering to himself about them having not done it yet. Harry mostly tried to ignore him, running words over and over and over and over in his head until he felt like it was going to explode. He had a plan, he thought, but he was terrified of it getting screwed up.

Finally, Ron snapped.

"Harry—we've just got to grit our teeth and do it. When we get back to the common room tonight, we'll both have partners—agreed?"

"Er… okay?"

Harry didn't know about partners, but if they were making a pack to just grit their teeth and do it, Harry would.

Harry caught her before she could get to the library, their afternoon lessons completed for the day.

"Hermione? I, er… could we go for a walk?"

"Harry, we still have three more exams—"

" _Please_ ," Harry stressed. "I really, really need to talk."

Hermione eyed him then sighed. "It's rather cold out—"

"We can walk the bridge," Harry tried. "Doesn't get too windy there."

"All right, Harry," she agreed. 

She was unhappy Harry made them stop by the dorms to put away their things, but Harry didn't want to give himself a chance to get distracted. He also brought his map, hoping to keep an eye out to make sure they weren't overheard. He spotted Rita Skeeter along the lake and was very grateful they were going to the bridge.

No one else was out except for a few stragglers late leaving Herbology. Their path to the bridge was clear, and Harry was quiet as they entered, chewing his lip.

"You're making me nervous," Hermione said.

"Sorry, I, er… I…" He shook his head. "I have a plan, I just." He took a deep breath. "I guess, where I need to start is to ask… w-what are your thoughts… on… things…"

"... What are my thoughts on things?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. He was steadfast staring at the wood of the bridge as they walked slowly, refusing to meet her eyes. "Y'know, things like… romance and stuff."

"Hmm." Hermione made a thoughtful noise. "This is about what you asked me before?"

Harry nodded again. "I guess, what I mean is… What are your thoughts on," he took another deep breath, "people who don't like… thegenderthey'resupposedtolike."

Hermione paused, grabbing his arm to make him stop walking. "What was that?"

They were well into the bridge at this point, and Harry hung his head, picking at the boards with the toe of his shoe. He shoved his hands in his pockets self-consciously, feeling his shoulder tense. Steeling himself, he repeated more clearly, "People who don't like the gender they're supposed to like."

Hermione was silent a long moment, feeling like hours to Harry, before she said carefully, "I don't think there's any one or more gender that people are _supposed_ to like. I think… I think that whomever someone finds attractive isn't wrong. It is what it is."

"It is what it is? And what exactly is 'what'?" Harry asked tightly, still not looking up.

Hermione made a slightly annoyed sound. "I'm not saying this right." She resumed walking, and Harry followed, a step behind her. "What I mean to say is that I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay—"

Harry physically missed a step at the word.

"—and that you can't control who you're attracted to. I don't see anything wrong with it, and my uncles certainly don't."

"Your…" Harry tripped again attempting to look at her finally. "Your uncles?"

"My uncle Gary and his partner Leremy," she said easily, keeping her head up and straight forward. "They've been together my whole life. I know it's probably unusual here, still a little in the Muggle world, but my uncles have been together, out and proud, for… twenty years now? Going on twenty."

Harry was gaping at her. She peeked over at him quickly, and her mouth broke into a smug grin.

"It's really not that unusual, Harry, or a big deal. I mean—" she added quickly "—I don't mean that as belittling the experience or anything. I just meant, it doesn't bother me at all. It wouldn't change how I felt about someone."

Harry felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. He was taking in her words, but he was still stuck on, "Your uncles are…?"

"Gay," she said slowly like he was a child.

"How?!" he blurted then realised how stupid that was. "I-I mean… _how?_ "

Hermione chuckled. "By them being attracted to other men, Harry."

"I know that! I just… why did I not know this? Why have you never said?"

They had reached the middle of the bridge, and Hermione leaned against the side, biting her lip. "Well… to be perfectly honest, Harry, I wasn't sure how people would take it."

Harry deflated a little, not realising his hopes were rising until then.

"No one else ever talked about it, so I just didn't bring it up, I guess. Some kids made fun of me in primary, but here, the chance of anyone knowing I had gay Muggle uncles were so low, I just sort of... "

"Enjoyed the peace?" Harry suggested bitterly, hunching over the bridge's side to stare gloomily out.

"I'm so sor—" she stopped herself. "I'm sorry, I suppose I should have realised that… other people might… appreciate the knowledge."

Harry felt affection for her roll through him. She knew. He knew she knew. Hell, she probably had known, but here she was, carefully pretending to not know. He shook his head, feeling oddly comforted by this. And by the information. She bluntly said it wouldn't change how she felt about him, and he was so incredibly grateful.

He straightened, grabbing her and pulling her into a fierce, tight hug. She made a surprised noise then chuckled, hugging back. Harry had to blow some of her hair from his face then stretched his neck to lay his chin on top of her head.

"I'm…" He gulped. It was two words. Two freaking words. He could do this.

Except he really couldn't. He could acknowledge the fact of it, but he couldn't even say the two words in his head.

He sighed. "I… like boys."

Three words. He could settle for that.

Hermione sighed, too, adjusting her head to lay it on Harry's shoulder and look out across the deep valley there. "I know."

They stayed like that for a while, in silence and just embracing. Then they slowly continued their way across the bridge as Harry told her about accidentally blurting it to Professor McGonagall, to which Hermione gasped, and all about what she said when he tried to backpedal the next day, to which Hermione laughed merrily at him, and even the conversation about the Yule Ball. By the time he had finished, they had reached the end of the bridge and found a comfortable spot on a small boulder to look out on the castle.

"I'm very impressed," Hermione said. "It's upsetting this is even a controversial issue, but to know you preemptively have Hogwarts on your side—"

"Not Hogwarts," Harry corrected, "just the staff." He thought of Snape. "And maybe not even all of them."

"Still. The fact that they are willing to go to bat just so you can take who you want to the ball is very good of them."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. But Hermione… You and McGonagall are the only ones who know. I can barely accept it myself, I just… There's no way I can bring a bloke, Hermione."

Hermione nodded sadly, tucking her arm around his. "I understand. I can only imagine what that Skeeter devil would say."

Harry shivered.

"But who will you take then?"

"Some girl, I suppose."

"It can't just be some girl, Harry."

"Why not?"

"Because first of all, that would be mean and cruel of you to lead someone on who doesn't actually have a chance with you. Secondly, you would be miserable all night, pretending to be interested. Thirdly, she would be miserable because she would be able to tell, you aren't that good of an actor, Harry," she added to his scowl. "And lastly, it would take the stress off the entire situation if you brought someone who understood you are just going as friends. You could end up having a good time."

Harry perked up. "Hermione, would you—"

She shook her head, smirking again. "I have a date, actually."

"Oh… Wait, who?"

Hermione blushed, looking uncharacteristically shy. "I… don't want to say. You'll see."

Harry was mildly curious but shrugged. If she could give Harry the chance to not say anything about himself, he could do the same. "Fine. Who for me then?"

Hermione pursed her lips, thinking. "I could ask around…"

Harry chuckled. "When Ron asked you to do that for us, you shut him down."

"That's because Ronald wanted me to pick a date for him and do all the work. He probably would have made me ask for him! This is different."

Harry chuckled again and leaned into her. "Thanks, Hermione. For… for everything."

"Of course, Harry. You'll always have me, no matter what."

_________

It was a tremendous relief to have told Hermione, even more so because she so readily accepted him. He also felt much better about the ball with Hermione's idea.

They returned to the commons to learn of Ron's abysmal attempt at asking Fluer, and with the renewed knowledge that Fluer was half-veela, Harry suddenly remembered the World Cup.

_The veela had begun to dance, and Harry tilted his head, interested. They were obviously skilled and their routine was excellent with precise twirls and moves. Ron made a slightly distressed noise, and Harry looked over._

_Ron was staring wide-eyed and gaping at the veela._

_"Ron?"_

_Harry turned to Hermione who was frowning at Ron as well. They shrugged at each other, going back to the veela. It only took a couple of minutes for their dance to finish, and when it did, the stadium broke out in angry, vicious cries, making Harry jump._

_"What?"_

_Ron tore off his hat, ripping apart the shamrock with determination, but Mr Weasley reached over and pried it from his hands, telling Ron he would want that once the Irish had their say._

_Most of the men in their box seemed utterly outraged by the exit of the veela, and Harry looked around, wondering what he had missed. He had locked eyes with Malfoy then who was also looking around as though confused. Malfoy immediately sneered nastily at him, and Harry returned it with favour, eyes lingering a little when Malfoy turned away. It was hard to miss how Malfoy's hair had grown some—how he himself had grown some—and his jawline seem more prominent than before._

_Loud cheering caught Harry's attention again, and he looked out on the stadium to see the Irish mascots._

It wasn't until later that they learned what veela did, and he could have kicked himself. He had nodded along, agreeing with the other boys as they described the feeling while inescapable hopelessness settling into him.

Harry now patted Ron's arm as they tried to comfort him, but he caught Hermione's eye over his head and mouthed, " _The World Cup?_ "

Hermione rolled her eyes in an answer that told him he should have figured this revelation out a long time ago. She had known about him since they learned about veela, and Harry should have known about himself. In so many ways, he did, but he was simply terrified of it.

He just grinned back at her and shrugged. The crumpled pieces of that particular avoidance bin of his mind felt like the best kind of rebellion.

Then Ron ruined both of their good moods by attempting to wrangle Hermione into going to the ball with one of them, offending her as he did so. After she stormed off, Ron scoffed, "She's lying."

"She's not," Harry said. "She's got a date."

Ron slunk back, clearly miserable, then attempted to wrangle Ginny who announced she was going with Neville. She went to leave to grab some supper, but Harry followed her, stopping her outside the portrait hole.

"Hey, Ginny, do you know anyone who wouldn't mind going _just_ as friends? No potential anything between me and her?"

Ginny considered him, seeming surprised but also strangely relieved by this. "I… think so. It just depends on… well, how well you handle weird."

Harry smiled. "I can handle weird."

Ginny nodded. "I'll ask."

"Thank you, Ginny."

_______

Luna Lovegood was a third year in Ravenclaw, and within a single minute of meeting her, Harry had to rearrange his definition of weird.

Ginny introduced them after their last lessons of the term, and she had whispered warnings to him as they walked to their meeting place. Apparently, Luna was bullied quite a lot for being unusual, most often called Loony Lovegood, which immediately made Harry want to come to her defence. Ginny then warned him that the bullying didn't really seem to faze her. She explained what the _Quibbler_ was and its reputation, something Luna apparently took as gospel, but Ginny ended by smiling and declaring Luna all right in her books.

They met not far from the Astronomy Tower where Luna was having a lively discussion with a portrait of dancing quills. She had long, blonde hair and large, round blue eyes. She was a whole head shorter than him and had a dreamy sort of voice when she greeted him.

"You are Harry Potter."

"Yeah," Harry said, holding out his hand. She didn't seem to notice. "Er, and you're Luna Lovegood."

She smiled. "Yes."

Ginny had stepped aside, seeming contented to let the cards fall where they may. She just smirked when Harry looked to her for help. Harry looked back at Luna. "Er… Ginny said that you might be willing to go to the ball with me? As just friends?"

"It would be really nice to have a friend," Luna nodded.

Harry frowned. "Don't you—?"

"We'll be happy to be your friends," Ginny pipped up. "Right, Harry?"

"Er, yeah, of course."

Luna smiled brightly. "It would be exciting to go to the ball as well. I was disappointed I wouldn't be allowed to go, especially since I won't be going home. My father is in Africa, recording the eating habits of Glistering Waterbats."

"... Okay," Harry accepted. "So, you'll go with me?"

"I would love to."

"Great," Harry sighed. "Thank you, so much. You wouldn't happen to know of anyone for my mate, Ron Weasley?"

Luna shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

"That's okay," he smiled. "We'll figure something out."

"Is there anything I need to know?" Luna asked, tilting her head.

"Er, I don't think so. Just that, I only want to go with someone as friends, I'm not… I'm not interested in anything more. Oh, and I have to open the ball." He shifted on his feet. "We would open the Yule Ball with the other champions and their partners."

"That should be fun," Luna said. 

Ginny cleared her throat, stepping up to them again. "It'll be formal dancing, though. Specific steps and everything."

"That's fine," Luna agreed. "I know the common waltz."

"You.. you do?" Ginny asked, sounding shocked.

"Of course."

"That's brilliant," Harry enthused, "because I don't."

"I'll guide you. It's quite easy."

"Thank you, Luna. You're a life-savour here."

She tilted her head again. "Is your life at risk?"

"Absolutely," Harry said as Ginny said, "No, nothing like that."

Ginny elbowed him hard in the ribs. "Not literally, Luna."

"I don't know," Harry teased, "McGonagall would probably kill me if I mess this up."

Luna let out a sound Harry assumed meant good humour. "I see. Don't worry, I know all the basic wizarding dances."

Ginny eyed her sceptically, but Harry readily accepted.

Luna was absolutely an oddity, Harry could tell. She had an aura about her that was almost ethereal, not to mention the tiny broccolis that were serving as earrings and her piercing stare at Harry that was almost unblinking. Harry, however, knew he couldn't be choosy, and he was confident there wouldn't be any misreadings between them. Well, not in any romantic sense. He figured he was going to be misreading her often, but it was good enough for him.

Even better, Luna approached him the next day in the Great Hall to tell him that another Ravenclaw, Padma Patil, Parvati's twin, was willing to go with Ron. Ron was less than thrilled but accepted under the mean glare Parvati was giving him.

So, that was sorted. However, Harry's spirits fell when Malfoy openly mocked him in the entrance hall after the meal. 

" _Loony_ , Potter? Loony Lovegood? And here I thought my yule couldn't get better."

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry growled.

Malfoy seemed to not have expected that, looking surprised, then his expression soured. "Defending your girlfriend, already? You must have it bad."

Harry was opening his mouth to give a scathing remark back, but Luna, who Harry was embarrassed to admit he had not noticed was walking by, interrupted. 

"Oh, we're just going platonically." She stopped and smiled at Harry before continuing to Malfoy. "We're friends now. Harry didn't want the pressure of a partner being anything else, and I'm quite looking forward to the decorations." She turned her dreamy expression back to Harry. "I do hope they've taken proper precautions against nargles."

Harry had no idea what nargles were much like he didn't know about Gristling Waterbats, but like before, he went with it. If nothing else than to rub his newfound friend in Malfoy's face.

He smiled brightly at her. "I'm sure they did, Luna. I hear there's also going to be ice sculptures."

"Ooh, excellent." Luna's eyes lit up. "I wonder what stories they will tell, whether from their depictions or the water."

Harry tried not to show his confusion and began to lead Luna away. He was acutely aware of Malfoy watching them, slack-jawed. "I guess we'll find out. Maybe it depends where they got the water or how they froze it?"

"Oh, absolutely," Luna nodded. She then began to ponder on how long water kept its memory and if any of the water could have come from another country and rained where it was then collected. Harry listened, trying his damnest to follow along, and waited until they were up the staircase to send Ron and Hermione a baffled look. They were trailing behind, looking equally baffled.

Ron pointed to Luna behind her back as if to ask if Harry was sure about this, and Harry just grinned and shrugged.

Yeah, Luna was a different breed of weird, but Harry found he liked it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things for anyone interested in knowing:  
> I've seen a ton of fics wherein Hermione has gay uncles. I don't know where it started nor currently find an example, but it's a headcanon I personally like. It's also a useful tool for fics like these. When I originally sketched out his coming out since with her, I had meant to put more backstory behind the uncles, but I forgot. I have a few other places I could put it in, so we'll see. (And of course, I gave the gay uncles backstories!)
> 
> I am also so nervous when I try writing Luna, and it's one of the reasons I've never posted some things because she's in it. Like Snape, there is book-Luna and movie-Luna, but I don't think either is all that favourable about her? There are times they are, but still. At any rate, I've combined them. I want to give her more weighted value, I guess, but I apologise if my Luna is too OOC for some.
> 
> Also, I feel like a disaster-gay Harry would simply get along with Luna better. He knows the queer trails, my friends. I'm also happily trying to take this opportunity to create my own weird-Luna-creatures, hence the Glistering Waterbats! Ha! *slaps leg* coming up with weird shit is fun.
> 
> I know this is a shorter chapter, but the next one is the Yule Ball. I wanted it separate and didn't want anyone to wait a whole week for a small thing again.
> 
> Ps, I hope everyone has picked up on Malfoy's jealousy in both chapters? I find trying to express how Malfoy feels in only a Harry limited narrative a really fun challenge, but do let me know if I'm doing it wrong. I'm always happy to take another swing.
> 
> And if anyone is worried about how they bridge together, the Yule Ball makes big steps, mostly because of Luna. That is already written-BUT, if anyone has any ideas or wishes, please let me know!! I absolutely will put it in if I can!!
> 
> Finally, for my mother's well-wishers, she is doing a lot better. Still at the facility and needing 24/7 oxygen and care, but better. She is determined she will be going /home/, not another facility or residential care. My sister and I are working very hard to get her home up to snuff, but it will be a while. If anyone wants to send wishes, I will continue to send or make cards to send her. The others really did brighten her so, so much.


	8. "We're here to talk about ice sculptures"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's not Monday and I know it's been a bit. I'm sorry. The facility caring for my mother gave us only a three-day warning before they were releasing her, and my sister and I realised there was more work needed for her home than we thought. The result has been a lot of money, a lot of upgrading and renovations, and my mother, sister, her husband and kids, and me all living together in one small place. On top of my mother needing around-the-clock care, it's been a large adjustment for me living with two small kids. Not to mention, sister, brother-in-law, and I are going into business together, so yeah, it's been a lot.  
> As such, even this isn't edited and as checked as it usually is, which is already poor. My quality is already low— so seriously, if any native English speakers want to volunteer to be a beta, please let me know. To be honest, the only perk would be to get to know what's going to happen before anyone else. :/ But I promise to be as entertaining as possible, and your thoughts, critiques, and suggestions will take priority! Think about it… This story can literally be half yours… *waggles eyebrows* 
> 
> **NOW the pic shown at the beginning of this is my own! I draw. It is supposed to be Harry, not even especially for this fic, and I did it by hand and scanned it. I know, I forgot the glasses. Also, it is inspired by a model, not an original design, but right now for the life of me, I can't find him again to name him. It's the first time I've drawn in a long while, but I am hoping to get back into the swing of it. I will not violate this beautiful site's Term of Service by mentioning more. If I become confident in my reliability to produce something timely, I will link to a Tumblr where you can find more details. Meanwhile, I mention this because one: I shamelessly want compliments, and two: I also want to see if my style and ability is something anyone is interested in.

On Christmas Eve night, Harry laid in his bed watching the moon slowly trek across the sky. He waited until he knew the commons would be empty, everyone asleep, before he snuck out of the dorm. Staying awake on Christmas was a habit he formed when he was little, wanting to stay up to catch Father Christmas and ask how he can start being a good enough boy for presents. He had long since stopped believing in Father Christmas, but the habit of wondering how to be better stuck.

First, he sat by the low fire, finding himself daydreaming, as he so often did this time of year, how the hols would be if his parents were alive.

These thoughts were tricky nowadays, however. Inevitably, thoughts of his parents were quickly followed by ponderings of what they would think of _him_ , as a person, as a student, as a Gryffindor, and as… other things Harry was. If he let his thoughts stray toward the Dursleys, he was filled with shame and could quickly become convinced his parents would have shared their views. If he ignored thoughts of the Dursleys, he could daydream of them accepting him completely.

He entertained himself a little bit by pretending the letter in his pocket was actually from his parents, telling him to damn what others thought and ask a bloke to the ball. Remembering the actual letter in his pocket depressed him enough to move to one of the windows, curling up on the ledge and thudding his head against the glass.

The actual letter was the one from Sirius. He hadn't heard from him since the congratulations on the Horntail (the miniature of which Harry still couldn't find). The elation of the victory, the praise, and the accidental coming-out had been whittling away. The ball and his coming-out to Hermione distracted him, but with that settled, the dangers of this year were making themselves known again.

Sirius kept urging him to be watchful. To be good, out of the way, but watchful, and to report back anything unusual. 

Harry snorted loudly, slinging back more comfortably to watch the light snow falling. 

In a lot of ways, he wanted to try to covertly find out from Sirius how his parents felt about people like him. But Sirius was already taking a tremendous risk sneaking closer to Hogwarts to be near Harry, and Harry knew he only wanted Harry to risk contacting him for the important things. Not only was Harry afraid that reaching out would make Sirius upset with him when it wasn't about something serious, but there was also that fear inside him that if Sirius knew about him, he would lose Sirius.

Harry bit his lip, wringing his hands and frowning down at them.

He didn't know why it was a big deal. He didn't know why he was making it a big deal to himself. Harry thought of Professor McGonagall's and Hermione's encouraging words, but at the same time, he thought of the other things they said. Professor McGonagall's confidence that there would be backlash enough to need the staff's support. Hermione admitting she never confessed about her uncles because of what happened in primary over it. He thought of Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's words.

He thought of Malfoy.

He had only seen Malfoy a handful of times since the term ended. He half expected Malfoy to reach out to go into the Chamber before Christmas, but that was obviously silly of him. He had seen Malfoy around, with his friends, laughing and clearly excited about the hols— and the ball, probably. There were a few times Harry caught Malfoy looking at him, but Malfoy always looked away so quickly, Harry couldn't guess why or what he was thinking. There was a really tense moment when Malfoy overheard Ron pestering Hermione about who her date was, and the ensuing mockery, but Hermione proudly held her own, faking Malfoy out by greeting Professor Moody behind him. Malfoy looked extra bitter at that, but somehow, still, there seemed to be so much less heat in the exchange. Only this time, oddly, from both Malfoy and Hermione.

Harry groaned, thunking his head back on the window.

Ron was admittedly getting on Harry's nerves as well as Hermione's. Ron had become fixated on the fact that Hermione had a date and by consequence, seemed to be noticing more and more things about Hermione, like her now straight teeth or that she carried too many books that her bag should be able to hold. The former, Harry already knew because it was kind of obvious, and the latter Harry never bothered to think about. 

What was annoying Harry the most was Ron not letting up on _who_ was taking Hermione. Harry was curious, too, but seeing her become shy and admit she didn't want to be made fun of always stopped Harry cold. 

It twisted something ugly in his stomach thinking about being in her shoes. He had been questioned by Ron a few times why he insisted on taking Luna Lovegood under the strict rule of _just friends_ when he thought Harry could have any girl he wanted. He couldn't imagine if Harry actually had decided to take the plunge and ask a bloke— if the bloke said yes. He would like to imagine he would have informed any relevant parties about it beforehand, but at the same time, what if he did want to keep it private until the ball? He would feel humiliation and shame coarse through him every time Ron badgered him about it. How nervous he would feel about Ron finding out when Ron showed that much interest from the get-go?

Harry gulped, pulling his sleeves down over his hand when he noticed he was wringing them again.

He didn't like to think too hard about telling Ron about his abnormality— or his… whatever. His whatever. Besides, Professor McGonagall said herself that _identity was a life-long journey_ , the mantra Harry had been repeating to himself. 

For all he knew, he could go to the ball that night, see not only all the Hogwarts girls but the ones from the other schools, dolled up and looking beautiful, and he could realise that he found them attractive after all. That all of this was just some sort of freak out because of the dangers of this year. That he was fixating himself on an actually small, minute blip, and that once he met the right girl…

Harry found himself abruptly sad at the thought. He hadn't realised he was becoming attached to an identity he couldn't even admit the words for. Was he so determined to be controversial, stubborn, and _wanting to be special_ that he was clinging to something he knew was wrong?

Or… wait. He shook his head. It wasn't wrong, right? And he wasn't doing that, right?

It wasn't in his head. 

But then again, what if it was? What if he was actually self-destructive, searching for ways to ruin his life because he was an attention-seeking liar who thrived on drama and wanted to be special so much that… what was one of the deaths Malfoy came up with? That he would choke on the realisation that he was exceedingly average?

Harry felt humiliated at the thought as well. He couldn't imagine going back to Professor McGonagall and Hermione to tell them that he was mistaken. _"Sorry— I'm happy for our bonding moments and for the support and acceptance, but er, turns out I'm normal. Thanks anyway!"_

The most pathetic part, Harry concluded, was that either way, Harry was clearly someone to whom his sexuality was important, a literal defining factor, if he was up at Merlin knew what hour thinking about it in a loop.

He sighed, pulling out Sirius' letter again to re-read it.

Regardless of what he was or what he liked, there was still someone out there who wanted him dead and was going through great lengths to ensure it. 

"This, that…" he whispered to himself. "What does either matter when you're dead?"

__________

Eventually, Harry went back up and got some sleep. He woke up with a start and a shout to Dobby just inches from his face. As hardly anyone had gone home for the holiday, his shout woke everyone else in the dorm. Luckily, the Christmas presents at the foot of their beds quickly made them forgive him. 

Dobby looked properly abashed, and Harry's immediate scolding to poke him or something next time didn't help. Guilt filled Harry when Dobby told him he was there to give Harry a Christmas present, so Harry lied and said he had one for Dobby as well. He thought shortly of giving Dobby a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks, but Harry didn't want to subject any part of that man to anyone. So, instead, he gifted a pair of his own socks, black with the Hogwarts crest.

When Dobby declared that the store must have made a mistake as the socks were the same, Ron gifted him with a pair of his own that he had just unwrapped so Dobby could mix them. Harry didn't know why Ron had taken such a liking to Dobby, but he approved.

Harry received several other gifts, from sweets to Mrs Weasley's annual sweater. His favourite was from Sirius which was a pocket knife that could unlock any lock. As he played with it and practised, he realised that with this, the Cloak, and his map, he had the starting package to become a master thief. 

Idly, he wondered what Malfoy would think of that.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had breakfast together in the Great Hall and spent the morning in the commons with the rest of the Gryffindors, showing off their haul and challenging each other to games. Dinner in the Great Hall was a proper feast, the house-elves outdoing themselves.

It was odd having the whole school (and then some) present for the holiday feast, but Harry had fun nonetheless. He enjoyed himself watching the others who never attended before.

That afternoon, Harry and Hermione joined the Weasleys on the grounds for a snowball war. As the Great Hall was being decorated for the ball, there was no Christmas tea like usual, so they were able to play four-sevens. Hermione, however, left early to get ready for the ball, which apparently was going to take her three whole hours.

Eventually, they too had to make the trek back up to their dorms to get ready.

Harry was freezing, so he made a beeline to the showers. He decided to at least try to make an effort and borrow some scented soap from one of the older boys also in there. The boy in question was in just a towel, fresh from a shower himself, and had to bend over to dig in his shower caddy. Harry allowed himself to watch and when the boy handed the soap over, asked to borrow his scented shampoo as well, sending the boy bending over again.

In the shower, Harry tried not to be embarrassed by his body's reaction. Not willing to risk a wank with so many people around, Harry forced himself to think of the least appealing things he could imagine.

Once back in the dorm, Harry stood in front of his mirror, only in a towel himself now, and observed himself. He felt like he spent so much of his time thinking about what and to whom he was attracted, he rarely paused to wonder if others found _him_ attractive. He looked himself over, trying to pretend it wasn't himself to decide if he would find someone like Harry good-looking. He bit his lip, trying to think of other words to describe himself other than 'skinny' and 'bony'.

"Fine!" Seamus shouted, making everyone jump.

All the boys were in different states of undress, mostly chatting about the ball and expectations for the night. Dean and Seamus, however, had been having a heated but quiet discussion. They had been fighting the last few days, which was unusual for them.

"You guys okay?" Harry asked.

"Yes," and, "Sure," were their clipped answers. Harry and Ron exchanged a shrug and returned to what they were doing. 

Harry sighed at his reflection and decided just to get dressed.

His dress robes were black and had many complicated parts to it. The seamstress at Madam Malkins walked him through which part went where, and Harry was pleased he mostly remembered the instructions. When he was finished, he returned to the mirror and inspected himself.

It was much, much better than just him in a towel. The dress robes gave the illusion of his shoulders being broader and his joints not so knobbly and bony. His hair was mostly dry, sticking up every which way because he was an idiot that didn't comb it while wet. 

"Hey, Dean," he called, "can I borrow some gel?"

Dean nodded and paused buttoning his waistcoat to toss it to him. Harry frowned at him as he caught it. Dean had been staring at Seamus who was now pointedly ignoring him. 

"You guys sure you're okay?"

"Leave it, Harry," Seamus snapped.

"We're fine," Dean said with an obviously forced grin. "Need my fro-comb?"

Harry shook his head with the mental note to give them some space. He gelled his hair and got it in as much control as he could. He couldn't stop it from being a mess, but he could at least make it look like a _planned_ mess. As he tossed the gel back onto Dean's bed, Ron groaned loudly.

Harry tried very hard not to laugh at him. His robes were terrible and clashed badly with his hair. Ron was able to use a severing charm to at least get off all the lace, but it left the seams uneven and a little matted. Still, no lace at least.

The five boys left together. Dean complimented himself and Ron for getting the Patil sisters as their dates, declaring the girls the best looking of the school. The comment made Seamus storm off without a word but seemed to cheer Ron up some. Ron hadn't been thrilled with his partner, and Harry just hoped he wouldn't go as far as letting Padma know.

Harry and Luna had agreed to meet on the first floor as Luna was worried they wouldn't be able to find each other in the inevitable crowd in the entrance hall. Ginny, who was keeping to her promise to be Luna's friend, had agreed to meet Neville there as well. So, Harry and Neville broke off from the rest of the descending Gryffindors and grinned at each other when they turned the corner to find their partners dancing with each other.

"Oh good," Ginny greeted them. "Um. I was just showing Luna the waltz everyone else will be doing tonight."

"It's rather boring," Luna declared. "I much prefer the original."

Harry lifted an eyebrow at Ginny, who shrugged but gave a look that told Harry that Luna may be mistaken.

"Which do you prefer, Harry?" Luna asked.

"Er… Let's do the one Ginny showed you when we open the ball, yeah?"

"Okay," Luna agreed easily. "I can show you the other one later."

"Sounds like a plan." Harry grinned at her and held out his arm.

Neville did the same to Ginny, and they made their way to the entrance hall.

Both girls looked lovely, Ginny in pink robes with delicate laces that actually looked to belong, and Luna was in a midnight blue dress that dipped in the back with her hair in a braided updo and dangling earrings that looked like shooting stars. Harry didn't get a chance to compliment either one of them, however, as Luna immediately began a monologue about legendary Christmas trees.

The entrance hall was indeed crowded. They lost Neville and Ginny who joined the throngs heading into the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall had apparently been waiting for him, and she waved him over.

"Mr Potter," she said when they reached her, "the champions and their partners are to wait over here." She then lowered her glasses some and gave him and Luna a sharp look. "Miss Lovegood."

"Hello, Professor," Luna greeted. "Isn't this lovely?"

"Indeed. I didn't expect to see many of the younger students."

"Yes, I'm very happy to have this opportunity. I've heard great things about the ball, and I get to help a new friend."

"Oh?"

Harry nodded sheepishly, fighting the urge to blurt out that Luna was not a real date. He also wanted to take a giant step away from Luna to emphasize the point, but he didn't want to be rude. Luckily, Luna apparently felt the need to clarify as well.

"Yes. Harry Potter needed a platonic partner for the ball, so we became friends." She smiled brightly, and Harry was reminded that Ginny warned Luna was bullied. It saddened him to think she was only doing this because she wanted a friend, any friend.

He straightened, deciding he was going to be proud to have his friend on his arm. "Yeah," he agreed. "But for the record, Luna, I'd be your friend even if you didn't come with me. You still don't have to."

"Oh, yes, she does, unless you have a backup, Mr Potter."

Harry winced.

"It's fine. I'm honoured to be your partner, Harry."

"Very good, Miss Lovegood," Professor McGonagall praised. "I'm happy to see you both on the same page," she added pointedly, giving Harry an approving and knowing look. Then she shooed them off to the side where the other champions and their partners were waiting.

Cedric had apparently decided to bring Cho Chang, and Harry couldn't help but notice how good they both looked. They also looked happy and like they couldn't quite believe they were there with the other. Fleur was with Roger Davies, who was practically drooling after her, and Krum was with…

"Hermione!" Harry yelled.

Harry didn't notice Hermione first mostly because of the lack of bushy hair. Instead, her hair was straight and in an elegant style. Her dress robes were also elegant, a light blue, and she was blushing fiercely but looked pleased.

"Wow!" Harry gushed. He rushed over to hug her. "You look amazing, Hermione!" He stepped back and held out his hand to Krum. "Krum," he greeted. 

Krum shook his hand, but he was giving Harry a sharp, calculating look.

"You do look amazing," Luna agreed. "I really like your hair."

"Right?" Harry grinned, especially at Hermione's blush darkening. She had taken a step closer to Krum, entangling her arm with his. 

"Thank you, Harry, Luna. Viktor, these are two friends of mine. Harry, as you know, is one of my best friends. He's like a brother to me."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Hermione and I are close, so I can attest you have one of the best people on the planet on your arm. I don't know whether to congratulate you or give you the shovel talk."

Krum frowned. "Vhat?"

"Shovel talk, really, Harry?" Hermione giggled. She then said to Krum, "It's a Muggle saying. It's something protective family members do, like 'if you hurt my sister, I'll hurt you' kind of thing."

Krum's bushy brows flew up.

"Not literally!" Hermione squeaked.

Harry laughed. "Yeah, not literally, don't worry, Krum." He offered Luna his arm again, settling in to wait. He forced his face to turn serious as he added, "But I'm watching you."

"I see…" Krum's stare darkened some.

Harry held up his free hand. "It's a joke, I promise. Sorry! You both look great, though." He looked Krum up and down and quickly looked away before anything caught too much of his attention. "Everyone is looking great, well… you haven't seen Ron yet, but he tried."

This made Hermione chuckle a bit more normally then the giggle she did earlier. "You both look great as well. You ready to dance in front of everyone?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry grumbled as Luna pipped up about being excited to teach Harry some of the traditional dances.

Harry quickly lost the thread of the conversation, however, because coming up from the dungeons was Draco sodding Malfoy.

And Harry's breath caught.

Malfoy wore dark dress robes that were open at the top to reveal a lighter waistcoat and a deep coloured bowtie, and just how fit Malfoy was. The waistcoat hugged him like it was basking being able to wrap around his flat chest and run down his smooth stomach. The robes buckled at the hips, spotlighting his narrow frame. He somehow looked _taller_ , and sturdy. How can he look sturdy and graceful at the same time? He walked like he could glide—as if he glided right out of a fashion magazine, Harry's brain unhelpfully provided— as if just walking into the hall was its own elegant dance. 

Harry was too busy processing Malfoy to notice the boy himself getting closer. He felt a sharp kick to his shin at the same time the words, "What are you gaping at, Potter," broke through his daze.

He blinked, closing his parted mouth, and snapped his eyes up—which was a mistake.

Because Malfoy's hair wasn't sleeked back. It was still styled, but now it looked amazingly soft. It was parted at one side, his locks curling into a small wave where it sat by his ear. He looked like he had more hair on top, as though the sides were a closer cut. It was terrible, it really was, because Harry could immediately picture how easily a strand could fall into Malfoy's eyes, making him look far softer and easier than the boy—man, there didn't seem to be a spec of boy left in his face— his face which had those grey eyes, arched eyebrows, high cheekbones… and, as Harry's vision took in the picture as a whole, a very angry-looking scowl on it.

Harry didn't know what noise he made, but he doubted it sounded human.

"Earth to scarhead!" barked a whiny voice, and Harry blinked over to finally see who was next to Malfoy. Pansy sodding Parkinson, in yellow dress robes, was hugging Malfoy's arm. Because _she_ was his date. And no matter what Malfoy said, Harry had seen her constantly swoon over Malfoy.

And Malfoy's date, and Malfoy, just caught Harry gaping…

His face felt like it was on fire.

"Malfoy. Parkinson," Hermione said diplomatically.

"You both look lovely," Luna added. "Those are beautiful matching corsages."

Harry thought it was safer if he didn't look, but something bitter twisted in him, and he had to. Sure enough, on Parkinson's thin, pointy wrist was a dark red corsage, and another was sitting neatly on Malfoy's chest.

"Indeed they are," Hermione said tightly.

"Much better than any of you," Parkinson sneered meanly.

Strangely enough, Malfoy nudged her with the elbow she had attached herself to. The movement made Harry look at Malfoy again, and his chest constricted. Harry had seen Malfoy's pale cheeks pink several times, but usually, it was in anger. Or humiliation, such as the ferret incident. Right now, Harry didn't know what was causing the light pinking, but his brain short-circuited and _pretty_ was the only word he could think of for a moment.

Again, Harry was lost to the thread of conversation. He could hear Hermione was saying something, her tone sharp, but he could only remember that the last thing said was Luna's compliment. Without any consultation to his brain, he opened his mouth and words fell out.

"Yeah, Malfoy, you look… amazing."

The silence that followed was deafening enough to catch his attention again. He looked around. Luna looked back pleasantly as if nothing strange just happened. Krum was frowning and watching all of them. Hermione and Parkinson were looking at him with their mouths open. And Malfoy looked like Harry had just smacked him.

Oh, if he thought his face was on fire before…

"Er…" Harry shuffled on his feet, extracting his arm from Luna to rub the back of his head. "I just mean… I mean, you both look… but yeah, you… erm…"

"Yes, we've established we all look good," Hermione said, sounding a little faint. 

"... Right…" Parkinson breathed.

Harry peeked up, and he found he couldn't regret his words. Not when they were causing Malfoy to look down as well, shifteing where he stood. His face was flushed, and a strand of his soft-looking hair really was falling in his eyes.

Harry wanted to touch it, brush it back.

"Carry on, carry on," Professor McGonagall's voice broke through the awkward silence, herding the strangling students inside. "Hurry up now, the ball's about to start."

Malfoy and Parkinson quickly scurried away.

"Harry!" Hermione hissed.

Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I know!"

"Malfoy does look exceptional tonight," Luna contributed.

"Very," Harry agreed weakly. "Did you see his hair?"

"Yes. It looked soft, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. He finally dropped his hands and looked around. It didn't seem the other champions and their partners had heard anything. 

"I knew it," Hermione hissed again, but she did not sound happy.

"It's nothing," Harry tried.

"Malfoy, Harry? _Malfoy?_ "

Harry threw out his hands in a frustrated gesture but didn't answer. He was very aware of Krum watching them now, and while he didn't think Luna would exactly put it all together or realise this wasn't just an extension of the small talk they've been having all night so far, he didn't know about Krum. There was little he could do about how disastrously obvious he had been, but he could defend himself to Malfoy that he just didn't want a fight to break out so he blurted something that would shut them up. But Krum?

Merlin, and Harry really did just ask Luna if she saw Malfoy's hair in front of him…

"This isn't over," Hermione warned.

Harry firmly turned his back on her and offered his arm to Luna.

Soon, they were led into the Great Hall and to the champion's table that also held the judges. Finding Percy Weasley substituting for Barty Crouch was a surprise, one that turned slightly unpleasant as Percy ensured Harry sat next to him. Percy greeted him with a swift and pompous, "I've been promoted," and Harry privately resigned himself to a boring meal conversation.

But, to his absolute delight, Luna proved to be a secret weapon.

Throughout the meal, there wasn't a single conversation that Luna was shy about adding her two knuts. Hermione and Krum largely went unbothered, deep in their own conversation, Fleur didn't deem Luna worthy of a reply, and Davies was too busy watching Fleur. But everyone else had at least one round with Luna. Ludo Bagman seemed puzzled but determined to entertain her with looks to Harry that suggested it was for Harry's sake. Karkaroff didn't seem to know what to think of her, and Harry quickly steered Luna way from him. Madam Maxime seemed to find Luna amusing, and Dumbledore seemed practised at humouring her. Percy, on the other hand, took her very seriously and was apparently unable to resist trying to correct her.

"They don't exist!" he snapped once when Luna mentioned to him that something called Blinkweses had a habit of locking themselves in briefcases by chewing on the metal latches.

"That would explain the noises coming from a few of mine," Dumbledore had put in.

Among the three of them, Harry just had to sit back and enjoy.

With the most interesting meal of his life and the entrance of the Weird Sisters, Harry forgot they were supposed to open the dance. Luna, apparently, did, too, and it took Percy shoving them to get them to realise the other champions were already heading to the floor.

"Crap," Harry groaned.

"It's all right, Harry. I'll lead."

Harry nodded, hoping he wasn't misplacing his faith.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Luna did lead while still taking the traditional girl-position, and they seemed to be dancing the exact same as the others. It didn't take long for others to begin joining them, first the staff then some brave students.

Luna also proved as a good distraction as well. She easily began telling him about the Weird Sisters, a band that appeared were comprised of men although Luna called two of them non-binary before explaining they were individuals that didn't identify as either strictly male or female. Harry didn't know enough about the subject to have an opinion, but he could admit that none of the band members were exactly presenting as strictly either anyway.

When Professor Moody danced by and complimented Harry's socks, Harry proudly told them that Dobby the house-elf handmade them for him, which led to him explaining to Luna who Dobby was. For the first time that night, some shiness slid in her features when she asked if harry was willing to introduce them.

"Absolutely," Harry answered her with a grin. "You two will make great friends!"

She lit up at the mention of having another friend, and Harry vowed to introduce them as soon as possible.

When the first song was over, Harry was tempted to go sit down. He looked around to spot Ron, who was sitting alone with Padma, neither of whom looked happy. Another sweep around the room, and Harry spotted a sulky-looking Seamus sitting alone in a corner.

"We can sit down if you like," Luna said, correctly reading his mind. "Or I can show the other dance if you want."

Despite Harry's prediction of the ball, he was actually having a good time. He didn't much fancy going over to see what was wrong and have his mood brought down. So, he agreed.

It was a weird dance, but Harry didn't expect anything else. Harry was slightly embarrassed, but when they passed Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so aggressively and wildly people were giving them a wide berth, he decided it could be worse.

"That was fun, I guess," Harry said when the song was over. He applauded with everyone else as the Weird Sisters started their third song. "I like the faster beats."

"I do as well. Their earlier music is much faster and louder. You know, the Weird Sisters first formed when they were students here. My father said Dumbledore allowed them to perform concerts on the Quidditch training grounds."

"Really? That would be… very cool, actually."

"I think so. Want to dance some more?"

She looked so hopeful, Harry could only grin at her. "As long as you lead."

"Of course."

This dance Luna led him through involved a lot of slow-motion twirls done on the tips of their toes. Harry tripped many times, but Luna insisted it improved the dance and began 'tripping' as well. The next dance didn't involve any touching or rotation, just more or less them facing each other and hopping from foot to foot. Luna suggested the best way to perform it was to pretend his feet were on fire. Harry had to admit, imagining that did help him hop more quickly.

Harry was laughing at Luna's running commentary on Professor Flitwick's dancing when Hermione joined them, looking near to tears.

Harry stopped dancing, grabbing her shoulder. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

"Just… _ooh!_ " She stomped her foot, cheeks red. "Who does he think he is?!"

Harry clenched his jaw. He was joking earlier about giving Krum the shovel talk, but if he really did do something to Hermione…

"Herm-own-ninny?"

Krum came up from behind her, holding two butterbeers. Hermione straightened, physically slamming a bright expression on her face so quickly, Harry wondered if it hurt. "Viktor! There you are!"

"Are you upset?" he asked her. "I not take too long with drinks?"

"What? Oh! No, not at all! Thank you so much." She took one of the drinks, taking a big gulp.

Harry could tell by her forced cheerfulness that Krum wasn't the one to upset her. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't hide it if he was. So, when Krum sent him a questioning look over her head, Harry shrugged slightly to signal he didn't know.

"How about we dance? Want to dance some more, Viktor?" Hermione asked, shoving her drink at Harry to hold.

Krum nodded slowly, and Hermione plucked Krum's drink from his hands and shoved it at Harry as well. 

"Hold these."

"Can I have one?" Harry asked with a teasing grin, hoping to help cheer her up.

She mocked-glared at him and wagged a finger. "If you take one sip, mister…"

It was so far from their usual banter or teasing, it was almost alien, but Harry knew it was the best she could do at the moment. So, he played along. "Yes, mother."

She gave him a watery smile and reached for Krum's hand, who didn't protest. They weaved their way through the crowd, presumably to find a better dancing spot.

"I wonder what happened," Luna mused.

"Dunno. Hermione can hold her own, though."

Luna nodded. "Wouldn't be a ball without a little drama."

They decided to take their own butterbeer break and walked together toward the buffet. It was here that Ludo Bagman found them, wasting no time in starting in about Harry's lead in the tournament and subtly offering his help.

Looking for any out, Harry asked Luna, "Do you want to talk with the ice sculptures now?"

"Sure," she readily agreed. 

They set their drinks down, giving their goodbyes to Bagman. Harry tried to see if he could find Hermione to let them know they didn't have their drinks anymore, but Hermione was looking properly cheered now and was smiling brightly with eyes only for Krum.

"They'll figure it out," Luna assured, and Harry and she made their way out of the Great Hall, through the quiet entrance hall, and outside to a winter wonderland.

The front entrance to the castle was now covered with fairy lights with many bushes, stone statues and ice sculptures, the tell-tale noise of fountains, and many paths dotted with benches. Harry supposed it was meant to be romantic, and he wondered what it would be like, to be there with someone he had romantic feelings for.

"It's beautiful," Luna commented.

"Yeah. Come on, let's find a pleasant sculpture."

They picked a path and began walking down it, comfortably silent. They didn't get far before they hear a familiar voice, and Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Karkaroff was obviously concerned about something, and Snape looked as ill-tempered as ever, blasting bushes to catch snogging students.

When he barked at Harry and Luna, asking what they were doing there, Harry answered truthfully, "We're here to talk to the ice sculptures."

Snape slowly blinked at him, visibly processing that answer, then blinked at Luna. "Then go do it."

The two professors brushed past them, and Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing.

A little further down the path, they overheard Hagrid, who was speaking in a husky voice. It wasn't something Harry thought they should overhear, and he quickly hurried Luna back down the path, passing Fleur and Davies half-hidden in a bush. 

They picked another path that led to a fountain with an ice sculpture of a swan.

"This one looks interesting," Harry suggested.

"Yes. Hello there," Luna greeted.

Silence. 

Luna tilted her head at the sculpture, seemingly waiting patiently until, "My name is Luna Lovegood, and this is my friend Harry Potter."

Harry nodded to himself, figuring it was another attempt at a greeting.

Then, "That's a nice name. Is it Muslum?"

Harry blinked, awkwardly feeling as though his expression was now mirroring what Snape's had been.

Luna began engaging the swan, allowing pauses wherein the swan presumably provided replies. Harry slowly backed away, deciding to give her and the sculpture a little more privacy.

He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, pulling down his sleeves over his hands. He could see his breath, and he squinted up, hoping for more snow.

Movement down the path caught his attention, and he looked over to see none other than Malfoy. Only, Malfoy was alone, shoulders slightly hunched and hands in his pockets. Harry turned fully toward him, wanting to take that moment to observe him more, but his own movement seemed to have caught Malfoy's eye.

They stood there staring at each for several moments. The fairy lights danced around Malfoy, his expression not exactly open, but not closed off either. As they stared at each other, it began to snow, and in that moment, Malfoy was beautiful.

Harry didn't know what to call the moment. It felt tender, precious almost, and Harry felt a pulling in his chest and a pleasant twisting of his stomach. His heart fluttered, and he ached. A new kind of longing tugged at him. He wished he could capture Malfoy like that, with the lights and the snow, in the dress robes with his soft-looking hair. He wished he was an artist, so he could paint it and pay loving attention to every line, every colour, every shade. 

The desire to know Malfoy— to really, truly know him that he had been battling with for weeks, turned into a burning need. He needed to know what Malfoy looked like in other situations, in other settings— in _every_ setting. He needed to see Malfoy grinning in the summer sun, see him laughing across a table from Harry over a shared meal, see him proud in victory having won a Quidditch game, see him alight in excitement over something he was passionate for, see him—

Walking toward him.

Harry gulped and shoved his own hands in his pockets. Malfoy paused briefly at that but continued, probably because Harry wasn't drawing a wand.

Malfoy stopped a little more than an arms-length from him.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

Malfoy's eyes flicked over Harry's shoulder, back to Harry, but then quickly back over his shoulder where he frowned. "What on earth is she doing?"

Harry looked behind him, and Luna was sitting on the edge of the fountain, apparently describing something to the swan, using her hands to mimic whatever it was.

"Talking to the swan."

"I can see that. But…?"

Harry shrugged, smiling at Malfoy. "It's talking back to her. I mean, I can't hear anything, but she seems to."

Malfoy watched Luna for a moment, visibly biting his tongue. "That's…" he started carefully.

"I know. But," he shrugged again, "she's not hurting anyone and enjoying herself. I won't stand in the way."

Malfoy finally looked back at Harry, and Harry's heart fluttered again. It took a second to realise it was less looking at Harry and more directing his disbelieving frown at him. "What do you see in her?"

"A friend. We're just friends, Malfoy."

"Even so… She's… odd."

"Yeah. But, so am I."

Malfoy snorted. "This, I know." Then he deflated some, looking away to study a bush. "So, is that part of the criteria to be Precious Potter's friend now? Oddity and questionable mental stability."

The tone and words squashed some of the exciting, and nervous, feeling in Harry. Harry sighed, feeling tired now. "No, Malfoy. Luna is a genuinely nice person— and a Ravenclaw, I might add."

"Why just friends?" Malfoy suddenly asked, eyes back on Harry and very sharp.

"What?"

"You could have any girl at this school, you moron. You're Harry bloody Potter, and a champion to boot. But you choose to bring…" his eyes flicked back to Luna for a moment before he appeared to change direction. "To bring a friend."

"Luna said it best, I think. I didn't want the pressure of anything else."

"Right…" Malfoy considered Harry for a long moment, and Harry tried not to fidget. "I would say great minds think alike, but considering one mind is yours…" he trailed off, pulling out a hand from a pocket to inspect his fingernails in what Harry knew was postering.

But then his words sunk in.

"Wait… Wait… Malfoy, are you saying you brought Parkinson as… just a friend?"

"Of course," Malfoy rolled his eyes as if it was obvious.

"But aren't you two…?"

"I already told you not to judge a Slytherin by public appearance. But alas, I should have known better than expect _you_ to pay attention."

Harry ignored the jab. "So, you're not… with anyone?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"No as well."

Harry blushed. He felt like one of those forward fools from one of Dudley's programmes, swagging up to a lady to ask if she was single. Judging by those sitcoms, a slap in the face should shortly follow. Instead, inexplicably, Harry and Malfoy shared small smiles.

Malfoy took a step forward.

"They've really outdone themselves, I say," he said, looking around. 

Harry bounced once on the balls of his feet again, hands in fists in his pockets. "Yeah," he agreed, but he couldn't look away from Malfoy.

Malfoy took another step toward Harry, still looking around so easily, Harry assumed he didn't realise he was doing it.

"The hall looks grand as well. I've enjoyed the music, even if the Weird Sisters are something my father would scoff at."

Harry's mouth was dry. He never pictured Malfoy as a small talk kind of person, but it felt like so much progress between them, he was desperate to keep it going. "Two of them are non-binary."

Malfoy looked back, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't they called two-spirits?"

"What?"

The eyebrow got higher. "Majs, in America. That's their terms, I think." His expression turned thoughtful. "Muggles and no-majs use non-binary, I think. If I'm not mistaken, it's a relatively new term in the community."

Malfoy had taken another step closer, and that and the confusion of what Malfoy was saying made Harry a little dizzy. He wasn't sure what Malfoy was saying, but trying not to look stupid, he assumed, "You're up to date on Muggle things?"

Malfoy gave him a small, shy-looking smile. "On some things. I'm afraid I'm grossly behind on technology."

Harry should mock him. Or point a finger and accuse him of hypocrisy. Or use the admittance against him somehow. Instead, he found himself taking a step forward, lips smiling on their own. "Don't worry, even Muggles are behind on Muggle technology. My aunt wouldn't know what to do with a computer even with the instruction manual."

"Computers…" Malfoy hummed. "I've heard of them. They depict stories and live microvision."

"Microvision?"

"Yes, those cameras that record real-time events."

"Oh, _tele_ vision. No, those are… er, televisions."

Malfoy frowned a little, but not in his usual judgmental frown, or his mocking frown, or his _aren't-you-pitful_ frown. It was a mildly confused frown that Harry found so adorable, he wanted to reach out and…

He squeezed his fists, feeling himself blush again. This time, he had to look away. "It's called a television. Or telly for short. Computers are similar, but on them, you can play games, communicate instantly over long distances, and… well, other things, but I've never used one, actually."

"Then how do you know?" Malfoy asked, and his tone sounded so unfamiliar, Harry's head snapped back up.

Malfoy had stepped even closer, now only about a foot from Harry. His expression was watchful, observant, but also soft and somehow encouraging. The tone sounded like it was supposed to be teasing, but it didn't actually have any teasing in it. 

Harry gulped again.

"My cousin had one. Broke it fairly quickly."

Malfoy nodded, accepting, eyes studying Harry's face. 

Harry could feel his blush spread. To his horror, he began to babble. 

"Probably one of his more impressive breaks, to be honest. The screens are probably easy to break, I guess—they're like a telly's screen—but that wasn't what he broke. He broke the computer itself. See, they come in two parts; one is a monitor, which has the screen, and the other is called the hard drive, I think, which is this big rectangle thing made of thick plastic. It has the wires and fans and stuff, and you connect to the monitor, right? I suppose one side of it where the wires connect can be fragile, but he broke it from the side, through the hard plastic. I don't know how he did it, probably just sat on it with how big he is—his school has actually required him to go on a diet—last summer was nothing but grapefruit, I swear—and he—"

"I like grapefruit," Malfoy interrupted. The more Harry babbled, the softer Malfoy's expression had become, thus enabling the babbling. Malfoy's lips seemed to be fighting a smile, too, and Harry tried very hard not to look at them fully, jerking his eyes back up when he noticed them falling.

Harry let out a quiet breath, willing his heart to calm down. "I used to nothing grapefruit."

"You…" Malfoy gave a quiet laugh—a real one, at that, his lips giving way to the smile. "You used to _nothing_ grapefruit?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry. You know, I was indifferent."

"I like your phrasing better."

"It sounds stupid being said to me."

"No, I think it's a brilliant summing for some things."

"Yeah?"

Malfoy nodded. Harry wasn't sure, trying to focus on the conversation and not Malfoy's face, but he thought maybe they had stepped even closer. Either way, Malfoy was close enough for Harry to see in stark detail as one snowflake too many landed on a front strand of Malfoy's hair, causing it to fall across one grey—silver in this light—eye. 

And Harry could _not._

His hand moved on its own out of his pocket. He very gently nudged the strand for his finger to slide underneath, slowly using the momentum to steer it back and letting his fingertip skirt across Malfoy's skin.

When he looked back into Malfoy's eyes, there was clear surprise there, but also so much else that Harry, unfortunately, didn't have time to parse through.

Because a very cool, clipped voice broke through whatever bubble they had weaved around them.

"I do not believe Mr Malfoy is an ice sculpture, Mr Potter."

Both Harry and Malfoy jumped apart, Malfoy spinning around, to find Snape down the path and looking murderously at Harry.

"Sir!" Malfoy squeaked— _squeaked_ —and Harry had enough brainpower left to squirrel that away for later.

"Mr Malfoy…" Snape reverted dangerously. "I believe your _date_ has been looking for you."

"Yes, sir," Malfoy said quickly, scurrying past Snape. Once around him, he shot Harry one more unreadable look before disappearing around the corner.

"I suggest you gather your _date_ ," Snape told Harry nastily, "and go inside. It's midnight. The ball is over."

Harry nodded, unable to find words. Snape spun around, robes billowing as usual, and stalked away. Harry turned back to Luna, who appeared to be giggling either with the sculpture or at something the sculpture somehow told her.

"Luna!" he called. "It's curfew!"

She grinned and nodded, saying an enthusiastic goodbye to the sculpture and wishing it a happy melting. Harry cast a warming charm on her when she reached him, it only now occurring to Harry how cold it was and that Luna didn't have a coat.

"Thank you, Harry," she told him. "And thank you for letting me get acquainted with Faaiq."

"Is that the sculpture's name?"

"For now. Once they're melted, they'll go their separate ways."

"Right."

"They also said you and Malfoy make a good couple."

Harry tripped. "What?"

"Some of them have been here before. They're glad we humans can be more natural now."

Harry had no idea what to think of that or where to put it in his mind. Panic flared in him, and he held out a hand to stop Luna. "We're not… Luna, we're not… _He's_ not… You can't just say stuff like that!"

Luna tilted her head. "Okay."

"Okay? Right, okay. Just… please, don't say that. Especially not to anyone else."

"Okay." She smiled. "But they're right."

"They're ice."

She nodded.

"I... Just, come on, before we get in trouble."

Luna followed but was silent now. As they entered the entrance hall, that still had several students and watchful professors, Luna asked, "Did I upset you?"

Harry sighed, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder to lead her up the stairs. "No," he said quietly to her. "It's just… It's just, that's isn't something… It could cause problems, is all, if other people heard you saying something like that. About two blokes—about me and Malfoy."

"Oh," Luna gasped, realisation dawning clear on her face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot about homophobia."

"Sh!" Harry looked around, but no one seemed to have heard. "Yeah, okay," he whispered now. "Just.. please be careful. I really, _really_ don't want to find out what Malfoy would do if any rumours got started about us."

Luna hummed. "He does take being pureblood as a responsibility. I imagine even if he didn't want to react, his parents would ask him to."

The pleasantness the encounter with Malfoy had caused in Harry turned ice cold.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'll be more careful."

Harry forced himself to smile at Luna. "Thank you. I promise I'm not mad."

"That's good. Does this mean you'll still introduce me to Dobby?"

"Of course. Even if I was mad, I still would. I'm your friend, remember?"

"It's nice to have friends."

"Yeah," Harry sighed again, wrapping an arm around Luna. "Yeah, I suppose it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a big canon Harry thing that he hates dancing, but I wanted there to be more Luna-dancing in honour of the actress who played Luna and made up the wedding dance during filming. God, I love her.  
> I would like to thank everyone who complimented my Luna! It did give me the courage to include her the way I wanted. For the record, I'm not just having her to be weird just to be weird. I have a tentative plan with her and will explain the ice sculpture thing. (Which, I thought was a thing, but in looking at the book again, it was just stone statues. Oh well. Here be ice sculptures. Also, I forgot there was a point in which Malfoy and Parkinson were described with their outfits, so yeah, those are different as well. Mine are better. It's because we're queer.)  
> Also, I really want to thank everyone who gave suggestions, critiques, etc. It helps improves this baby, and I appreciate it so much!  
> I have a couple more chapters mostly ready to go, just need my pathetic attempts at last read-thrus. I'll try to get them up as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, I will slowly be replying to comments.  
> I'mma doing my best.
> 
> If anyone sees anything that needs immediate correction, please lmk!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Please forgive or point out any mistakes as this does not have a beta. Yes, I absolutely take constructive criticism, all I ask is to please be kind. Also, I love when readers get involved and love incorporating their ideas as well as fixing/editing scenes when something doesn't work right. So, if I'm lucky enough to inspire any ideas or daydreams of this, feel free to share them, and I will do my best to add them in!
> 
> Stay safe out there. 2020 is making us her bitch, that's for damn sure.


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